Get Out Alive
by Evenstar606
Summary: A deadly poison leaves Fred suddenly paralyzed and fighting for his life. It's up to his girlfriend Alice to find the cure and save him. GoF.
1. Back to the Burrow

This is my latest story. The first part is about Harry, but the rest will be Weasley Twin Centric. Set during GoF. Everyone looks like they do in the films. 

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

Harry waited impatiently by the window, staring out at the bleak houses of Privet Drive, knowing that in only a few more hours he would be rid of this place. Dudley was out in the yard, tossing a football around with one of his bullying friends, a tall, muscular boy that had forearms the size of watermelons. Well, not really, but Harry figured a blow from him would surely feel like a watermelon had been chucked at his head. He laughed at the thought, imagining Dudley with watermelons for fists—he would eat his own hands before he did too much damage to Harry.

"Well, where are they boy?" Uncle Vernon growled, jolting Harry out of his thoughts. Harry whirled around and found his uncle glaring at him with clear dislike.

"Don't worry about it, they'll be here," Harry insisted, checking his watch. Vernon's face contorted in a hideous scowl, his skin turning dark purple.

"Are you being _smart_ with me, boy?" Vernon demanded. He glanced around as if fearful that the Weasleys would appear out of thin air and hex him, or whatever it was that magical freaks like them did all day.

"No," Harry muttered. The front door opened and Dudley came inside, sweating from the game. He passed by Harry and shoved him with his shoulder. He headed, as usual, for the refrigerator, but the moment his hand reached out to open it, Petunia materialized in the kitchen doorway, her eyes like a hawk.

A very docile hawk; she never yelled at Dudley. Sure, Petunia admonished Dudley when he refused to follow his diet, but it was always with the same sickening sweet manner that one used with a small child. "Diddy-Dums," she began kindly. "I've bought you all sorts of healthy snacks to eat. There are apples in the fruit bowl or even a banana if you want..."

"I want POPSICLES!" Dudley yelled back, and Vernon laughed uproariously.

"The lad knows what he wants, let him have one, just this once Petunia," Vernon insisted.

Petunia opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off by a man's voice. "Harry! Harry can you hear me?"

"What on earth—," Vernon began, following the sound into the living room. They heard loud banging from the other side of their fake fireplace. "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" Vernon demanded, rounding on Harry.

"It's just Mr. Weasley," Harry explained as if that were obvious. Dudley yelped and quickly bolted out of sight.

"What happened? Where are we?" said another, which Harry recognized as Ron.

"Oh Bugger," two voices said in unison, and Harry stifled a laugh. The Twins, no doubt.

"Hold on, I've got it," Arthur said finally, and suddenly the Dursleys' fireplace exploded, sending chunks of brick and wood flying, and throwing four redheaded people out along with a cloud of dust. Arthur was tall and balding with glasses; Ron freckly, wearing a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt; and the twins both had hair that brushed past their collar. Obviously Molly hadn't yet pestered them about a haircut.

Petunia screamed her eyes bugging out at the mess strewn all over her living room floor. It would take ages to clean this up, how dare they come into her home and traipse about like common, filthy animals; did these people have no respect?

"LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!" Vernon bellowed, voicing Petunia's thoughts.

"Sorry about that," Arthur blushed. "I can straighten all this out if you just give me a minute…" he withdrew his wand from his robe pocket, and Vernon quivered with rage.

"DON'T YOU DARE BRING THAT UNNATURAL DEVILRY INTO MY HOUSE!" he shrieked, a huge vein pulsing in his neck, and Harry was sure his uncle would fall over from a heart attack.

"Err…boys, get the trunk," Arthur said uncomfortably, stowing his wand away once again. Fred and George nodded and went upstairs, hoping that Dudley made an appearance, because they had a present for him. Little did they know, but their lives were about to take a turn for the worse.

Back at the Burrow, tempers were running high. "I can't believe you would even _think _to give a Muggle one of your ridiculous inventions, what if you had killed him?" Molly Weasley raged at her sons. She had gone irate after Arthur broke the news about the twins' Ton Tongue Toffee.

Arthur had just spent the last fifteen minutes attempting to undo the affects after Fred 'accidentally' slipped Dudley the forbidden candy. Trying to explain to a Muggle why their child's tongue was four foot long was no easy task, and he had to admit, he was more than a little disappointed in Fred and George.

"The jerk deserved it, after how he treats Harry," George said indignantly.

"None of this would have happened if he hadn't been such a pig, anyway!" Fred added.

"Don't you talk back to me, young man; you're both treading on thin ice!" Molly shouted. "Now go to your room!"

Fred glared at her. Why couldn't she understand them? He stormed up to his room with George. He heard his mum calling for Ginny, Ron, and Hermione to come help with dinner. Harry started to follow them downstairs but paused in the twins' doorway.

"I hope you guys didn't get into too much trouble," he insisted.

"She's just overreacting," George muttered, before noticing a pile of clothes in Harry's arms. "What's all that, don't they allow you to do laundry at the Dursleys?"

"No," Harry shrugged. "I figured I'd better get it done while I'm here—Uncle Vernon doesn't want my 'school stuff' in their washing machine…"he gave a derisive laugh and shook his head, amazed by their stupidity.

"HARRY! Come down here for a sec!" Ron hollered.

"Well, I better go see what he wants," Harry sighed, attempting to wave behind his pile of laundry. He left the room, but not before a sock slipped out of his arms and landed on the floor with a soft 'plop'. He didn't seem to notice and hurried downstairs.

"Oh look," George laughed. "Harry's a Chudley Cannons fan!" he exclaimed, plucking the sock from the floor. "This smells worse than Mum's cabbage," he made a grossed-out face and tossed it; the sock landed out of sight on Fred's bed.

"I think he packed Ron's sock by accident," Fred snickered, and they went down to dinner, laughing together. As soon as they were gone, a black spider with a green marking on its body scuttled out of the sock and hid underneath Fred's pillow, laying back to wait for its next victim.

**That's the end of chapter one. R&R!**

Evenstar606


	2. No Big Deal

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter**

**A/N: This story is dedicated to Ms willow gosermer for giving me the idea. Thanks!**

A warm summer breeze greeted Fred when he and George finally joined their family for dinner. Molly had calmed down considerably and offered them both a smile while she arranged heaping dishes of baked potatoes, mince meat pie, and fresh salad on the two tables set up by Bill and Charlie earlier that afternoon.

"Fred, George, remember that you'll be sharing a room with Ron and Harry this week, so no pranks, okay? Molly fixed them with a pleading look and Fred realized that she was probably at the end of her rope, what with the events of last year with Sirius and all. Maybe they should cut her some slack for once, Fred thought.

"Sure, Mum," Fred grinned, and loaded up his plate with food. "We're always up for a challenge, eh, George?" He sat down beside Charlie, who eagerly struck up a conversation about the Quidditch World Cup. Charlie was a Quidditch maniac.

George pretended to look disappointed. "Well, there go my plans for World Domination, then," he groaned.

Percy gave an unmistakable snort of disgust from the other end of the table.

"What's wrong, Percy, choking on your humungous ego?" Ron wondered his mouth stuffed with Molly's delicious homemade pie. Ginny giggled, but a look from her mother silenced her.

"No," Percy insisted, annoyed. "I was just thinking that Fred and George couldn't last a day without doing something immature, let alone a week."

"Care to bet on that?" George demanded, pouring himself a tall glass of lemonade.

Percy rolled his eyes. "Gambling is a waste of valuable time and money, I have better things to do than make some silly deal with you—speaking of work, father, Mr. Crouch was telling me…" he trailed off, engrossed in a conversation with Mr. Weasley.

"You're no fun," George muttered.

Charlie finished his last bite of potatoes, and leaned across the table, his face incredibly freckly from long hours in the sun. "Don't worry, the World Cup is tomorrow, that should keep your mind off gits like Percy," he grinned good-naturedly. "Ireland is sure to win this year; they swamped everyone else in the semi finals!"

"True," George said thoughtfully. "But that Viktor Krum is something else."

"He's awesome!" Ron exclaimed, and Hermione rolled her eyes. She wasn't a big fan of Quidditch, and Fred couldn't imagine how she would even enjoy the game tomorrow. He glanced around at everyone talking and laughing as the sky grew darker and a faint chill crept up his spine that he couldn't shake off. Suddenly, he got the feeling that something was about to happen.

"Oh my, look at the time!" Molly gasped. "You all better turn in, you've got a big day tomorrow."

"Right," Arthur stood up. One by one everyone else followed, and the crowded tables seemed to sag with relief as Molly levitated the dirty dishes into the house.

Fred glanced around Ron's room. Pigwidgeon, Ron's tiny new owl, fluttered anxiously about in his cage, hooting loudly for attention. He didn't expect Ron would bother to put it out with Hedwig—that owl was bloody annoying.

"SHUT UP, PIG!" Ron hollered, chucking an owl treat at the cage. Pig ruffled his feathers and screeched, turning his back on Ron.

Harry and George laughed. "Mum forgot to bring up our pillows, Fred, you better go get them or it'll be like we're sleeping on rocks all night," George whined, throwing himself on Ron's bed and casting a distasteful look at the cots Mrs. Weasley had set up.

"You're lazy," Fred insisted, and went downstairs to fetch their pillows. When he returned, he saw that Ron had kicked George off his bed and was now collapsed in his pajamas, snoring. "Here," he tossed George his pillow.

Moments later they were all in bed, the lights turned out, and the room was wrapped in silence. Fred rolled over, trying to find a comfortable position, which was difficult when you weren't in your own bed. His eyelids had just begun to feel heavy with sleep when he felt a stinging pain in the back of his neck. "OUCH!" he cried out and sat up, brushing at his neck, which was already starting to throb.

"Huh?" Harry mumbled sleepily, fumbling for the light. Ron and George sat up and they all stared at Fred, who was now searching his sheets.

"What happened?" George demanded.

"Something bit me," Fred explained, shaking his head to clear it. "It must have been a spider; there are loads of them up here."

Ron blanched. "S…spider?" he stammered, his eyes growing wide. He stared around the dusty corners uneasily, as if expecting a swarm of the eight-legged creatures to come attack him at any moment. "I've never seen a spider up here."

"Oh, Ron, get over it," George laughed, and then fixed his twin with an amused grin. "Don't worry about it, let's go back to sleep, _please_?"

"Yeah, you're right, no big deal," Fred insisted, grinning mischievously at Ron and then laying down again. "Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite," he joked, and everyone but Ron burst into hysterical laughter.

It was several minutes before they calmed down and finally fell asleep. It was even longer for poor Ron, who lay awake gawking at the shadows on the wall as they danced in the moonlight.

The next morning, Fred groaned as Mrs. Weasley shook him awake. He felt as if he had barely closed his eyes. "Five more minutes," he mumbled into his pillow.

"Come on, all of you, time to go," Mrs. Weasley said cheerily, rousing Harry and Ron.

Fred sat up slowly, deliberately—something wasn't right. Sure enough, a dull headache throbbed behind his eyelids. He rolled out of bed to pull on his clothes, and suddenly the floor seemed to rock and tilt underneath his feet. He swayed and George caught his arm.

"You still awake, bro?" George wondered, his eyes twinkling.

"Yeah," Fred insisted. _What had that been all about_?

They finished dressing and trooped downstairs in silence, where Mrs. Weasley already had breakfast laid out for them. Arthur checked their tickets while Mrs. Weasley went upstairs to rush the girls.

Once they all were outside in the cool, early morning air Fred pondered what had just happened upstairs. He had never experienced anything unusual like that before—ever. The headache was still bothering him; in fact, it appeared to grow worse as they walked. He decided not to say anything, though. Today was supposed to be fun, and worrying took up too much energy.

**R&R **

Evenstar606


	3. As It Should Be

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

The field stretched out before them as Fred and the others made their way over the hill. A sea of tents came into view, and Fred was bombarded by a sudden whirlwind of activity that literally made his head spin. He bumped into Ron as everything tilted out of focus.

"This is the Quidditch World Cup?" Harry asked.

"Great turnout this year," Arthur grinned. "Come on, you lot, let's find our tents."

They walked through the crowded field and Fred hardly noticed the people around him. A little girl whizzed past on a toy broomstick, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a group of wizards talking animatedly in a foreign tongue. Usually Fred didn't mind all the chaos and noise, but today…he just wasn't into it.

"Ah, here we are," Arthur insisted, opening the flap of a small tent and stepping inside. Fred was close behind, and he glanced longingly at the sofa in the corner.

"Dad—," Fred began, but Arthur cut him off.

"So, Harry, Hermione, what do you think?"

"This place is huge," Harry gasped, gaping at the tents' modest yet extravagant interior. "I've don't think I've ever—,"

"Who cares what you think!" Fred shouted, suddenly very agitated. His head was pounding and aching like it might explode at any minute and all he wanted to do was lie down. He wasn't in the mood for Harry's doe-eyed 'I-was-raised-by-abusive-Muggles-so-feel-sorry-for-me' routine.

"Fred!" Arthur scolded. "What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing," Fred muttered, throwing himself onto the sofa.

"Well—," Arthur said awkwardly, glancing at Fred suspiciously before turning to the others. "Ron, why don't you take Harry and Hermione and find us some water so we can get some lunch started? The rest of us can gather the firewood."

"Sure," Ron said, leading his two friends out of the tent. He wanted to be as far away from Fred as possible right now.

Once they were gone, Arthur clapped his hands together. "Okay, let's go find some wood, I can't wait to build a fire from scratch, just like Muggles, isn't this exciting?"

"Um, sure, Dad," Ginny laughed.

"Come on, Fred, I think I just spotted Draco Malfoy," George exclaimed, poking his head outside the tent, an evil glint in his eye. "If we hurry maybe we can sneak him a couple Canary Creams, that's sure to cheer you up!"

"Canary Creams...?" Arthur began to ask, then changed his mind and let it go. They went outside and walked toward the forest.

George watched Fred out of the corner of his eye. Lately, he noticed, Fred had been acting really strange. Now that Dad was noticing it, he figured whatever Fred was trying to hide he wouldn't be able to hide for much longer.

"Fred, what's up with you?" George demanded, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

"I don't know," Fred shrugged an uncharacteristically pained look on his face. He walked into a clearing and George followed. Arthur and Ginny were somewhere behind the twins gathering wood. "Maybe it's the flu or something—YIKES!" Not watching where he was going he bumped straight into a tall girl with long, shiny black hair who was carrying an armload of wood.

Kindling flew everywhere as the girl knocked Fred onto the ground and they both landed in a heap.

"SORRY!" Fred exclaimed, picking himself painfully up off the ground and extending a hand to help the girl up.

"That's okay," the girl insisted, brushing off her clothes, and gathering the stray wood. Fred bent down to help her, wishing that his head didn't hurt so much.

"I didn't mean to run into you…" Fred felt his face grow hot and he was sure his face was nearly as red as his hair. George was laughing next to him.

"No problem, really," the girl insisted, extending her hand while balancing the wood in one arm. "I'm Alice, by the way. Alice Perry—I just moved back from Massachusetts."

Fred took her hand awkwardly, uncomfortably aware that his palms were sweating. How disgusting. "I'm Fred Weasley, and this is my twin, George."

"Twins, huh?" Alice grinned. Her eyes were deep purple, and they sparkled brilliantly in the light. "Well, I guess I'll see you around, Fred," she tossed her hair over her shoulder and walked away, smiling to herself.

"That was weird," George commented.

"Yeah," Fred agreed, closing his eyes against the piercing sunlight. "We'd better get back, Ginny and Dad probably got all the wood already."

"Less work for us," George said jokingly, and they hiked back to the campsite. Bill, Percy, and Charlie had arrived by now, and Arthur had a fire going. The smell of scrambled eggs wafted through the air and Fred just about hurled.

Obviously, whatever was wrong with him was showing no signs of letting up.

Bugger.

By that evening, anticipation for the game had reached an all time high. Everyone was scrambling to get their hands on souvenirs and refreshments and needless to say, the volume inside the stadium was deafening. Fred was fighting the urge to crawl under the bleachers and sleep until it was all over, or maybe shove in a pair of earplugs when someone giggled behind him

"Are you always this jumpy?" laughed a familiar voice, and Fred turned around to see Alice, the girl from the forest.

"Are you following me?" he asked warily.

"Well, I'm embarrassed to admit, but—yes," Alice cringed.

"Why?" Fred asked.

"I maybe, kind of like you," Alice giggled awkwardly, and Fred grinned at her.

"You like me?" he repeated. His mouth twitched into a smile despite the noisy crowd, which made his head feel like an army of giants were beating on it from the inside with clubs. Not the best feeling in the world, but hey, if a cute girl was practically asking him out he could deal with it.

Alice nodded, blushing furiously. She was really very pretty, Fred observed.

"Okay then," Fred replied. "I guess I like you too."

George rolled his eyes. "This is getting entirely too sappy for me, I'll be over by dad if you need anything." He climbed the bleachers and disappeared into the crowd mulling about before the game.

"You're in the Top Box?" Alice asked.

"Yeah," Fred said. "Where are you sitting?"

"Well, my Mum and Dad got us seats in the Top Box as well, so I guess I'll be seeing you?" Alice smiled while her parents waved her over.

"Sure," Fred insisted. Alice waved and he watched her walk away, her long black hair shimmering in the afternoon sunlight.

"Oi! Fred, get up here!" George shouted, jarring Fred out of his thoughts. He carefully moved up the bleachers to join the others, pausing on the last step when a fit of dizziness assailed him, and he grabbed onto the handrail for support.

"Fred, Fred, here, I've got you," his father was by his side instantly, and they took the steps one at a time until at last they reached the top, where Mr. Weasley pulled him over to the nearest empty seat. "Now you sit down, and tell me what that was all about—you almost fell just now," Mr. Weasley's tone sounded worried, and Fred cursed inwardly.

"I was distracted," Fred said simply. His head pounded painfully, and it was all he could do to keep from lying on the floor and whimpering like a child.

"By what, you're pale as a ghost—do you feel alright?" Mr. Weasley asked, and Fred hoped the others wouldn't overhear. He longed to tell his father everything, but he wasn't sure if he even knew what _everything_ was.

"I'm fine," Fred insisted.

Mr. Weasley frowned doubtfully, but he didn't press the issue. "Okay—oh, look, the game's about to start. He stood up and Fred let out a relieved sigh.

"Did she mention she was a Death Eater?" a cold voice called out behind him. Fred stiffened and looked around to see Draco Malfoy walking by, his Mother and Father looking pompous and rich as usual.

"Who?" Fred asked wearily.

"Alice," Draco grinned as if he knew some forbidden secret. "My Father will be thrilled to know the Perrys are back in town, he's been so eager to speak with them" Something in Draco's voice led Fred to believe that wasn't a good thing.

"There's no way she's a Death Eater, you're making it up," Fred growled.

Draco sneered. He leaned down until he was eye-level with Fred. "Don't be so naïve, Weasel Flea," He laughed at the offended look on Fred's face. Fred clenched his fist, fingernails cutting into his palm as he struggled not to punch Malfoy.

"How do you know her?" George asked suspiciously, coming over to join Fred.

"My Father talked about her family a few times," Draco explained his eyes cold and narrowed. "Her parents fled England during the war. Alice's parents used to be Death Eaters who worked for the Dark Lord. They were loyal followers until they learned that another Death Eater slipped a tip to Voldemort that the Perrys were Double Agents— they feared for their lives, so they escaped to America and lived in Massachusetts under assumed names. If Voldemort ever knew they were here—," Draco laughed callously. "Let's just say it wouldn't be pretty."

"Well, You-Know-Who's gone isn't he?" George snapped. "So what do you care, you slimy git?"

Draco glared at them both. "You'll see—all you Blood Traitors will be begging for your life before too long." He shoved George aside and stormed away to join his parents.

"What a jerk," George muttered. "Are you okay?" he wondered, noticing that Fred had turned awfully pale.

"Yeah," Fred said absently. None of those things Draco had said could be true—just because her parents once followed the Dark Lord didn't mean that Alice would. She would have only been a toddler at the time. He caught her eye in the stands and Alice grinned widely, waving.

Fred smiled and leaned back to watch the game as the Irish team flew into the stadium amid wild applause.

For now, everything was as it should be. Sort of.

**R&R**


	4. Snake Eyes

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

Long after the game was over, when the sky was at its darkest and the moon shone faintly through the clouds, the campsite was still alive with raucous cheers as the Irish celebrated their victory over Bulgaria. Many loyal fans decided a nice brew or two would carry the party through the rest of the night.

"Off to bed, all of you," Mr. Weasley announced, setting down his empty mug of hot cocoa. He glanced warily outside while holding the tent flap open for Ginny and Hermione, who walked over to their own tent under his watchful eye. "Not that any of us will get any sleep with this dreadful racket."

"The Ministry isn't going to stand for such behavior, Mr. Crouch will probably have me send out some heavy fines this week," Percy said importantly, shaking his head as a firecracker went off lighting the campsite in a brilliant glow; and the voices grew louder, the Irish breaking into song. "The nerve of some people," Percy frowned disapprovingly and set his glasses on the nightstand, climbing into the top bunk above Mr. Weasley.

"It was an awesome finish, though, wasn't it?" Charlie grinned while everyone dressed for bed. Bill, Charlie, Ron, and Harry climbed into their bunks, but Fred and George were still laughing over their hot chocolate in the small kitchen area.

"You're not serious about Alice, are you?" George wondered curiously. "I've never seen a girl like her before, she's a little over the top for your taste, Freddie."

"Are you saying I have low standards?" Fred demanded, although his face was lit with a grin.

George looked pointedly at his brother. "Her hair literally shimmered in the light, Fred—s_himmered_," he emphasized the last word. "No doubt she used a spell to make it that way, even Snape doesn't have gleaming hair like that, and he never washes it!"

Fred burst out laughing.

"Okay, okay, I get your point," Fred insisted, and then his expression turned serious. "But there has to be a reason I bumped into her, right?"

"You have no sense of direction?" George suggested.

"Very funny," Fred said dryly. "You don't believe all that stuff Draco said about Alice and her family, do you?" he dropped his voice low so Arthur wouldn't overhear.

George drained his mug of hot chocolate. "He's just full of himself, everyone knows that," he said reassuringly. "I don't think we have to worry about Alice killing us all in our sleep."

"_Bed,_ you two!" Arthur said firmly.

"We're going—," George sighed, heaving himself up out of his chair.

"Yeah, don't get your knickers in a twist," Fred insisted.

They loped off to bed, and soon the room was wrapped in stillness. Until Charlie's snores filled the tent and the Twins fell into hysterics.

Arthur groaned, stopping himself from casting a Full Body Bind curse on his own kids. Well—at least Fred seemed to be back to his old self.

The moment Fred opened his eyes he suddenly wished he hadn't. The pain was back. Those few hours after the game had proved to be freedom on a short leash, because now his body was turning against him with a vengeance he would never understand. His head weighed a ton and it lolled weakly to one side as he attempted to shift positions. There was a strange tingling feeling spreading up his legs and he wondered briefly if they were being stabbed with hot needles, perhaps one of those goblins had come and cloaked him in some ghoulish enchantment. Not exactly his idea of a joke.

He was just about to roll over and fall back asleep when Arthur's voice cut through the silence, loud and urgent.

"Wake up, everyone!" Arthur shouted, pulling on his jeans and withdrawing his wand from his robe pocket.

George dropped to the floor from the top bunk." What's happening?"

Arthur didn't answer, moving to rouse Harry and Ron. Fred climbed out of bed to join his twin and the sound of screams filled his ears. Through the tent walls he could just barely make out the glow of fire.

"Outside, hurry," Arthur commanded, herding everyone towards the doorway. The chilly night air descended upon them and all around was turmoil. A group of hooded figures, their faces concealed by masks, marched through the campsite, wands raised. Tents were blasted out of the way, and the campsite was filled with smoke and flame.

The scene before them could only be described later as outrageous, maybe even frightening. A Muggle family had risen up into the air, floating several feet above the ground, suspended by the wands of more masked figures. Their hair was whipped about them by the wind, and their faces were quite empty of joyous expression. They were not celebrating any victory; only fear was shining in their eyes.

Fred's mouth dropped open, but no words came out because moments later, the youngest Muggle child let out a piercing scream; suddenly the child began to spin madly like a top, shrieking with terror as the motion jerked its head violently back and forth. The sound echoed through the surrounding forest, and Ginny clamped her hands over her ears and backed away, shaking and tearful as the child's screams grew louder.

"That's horrible," Ginny gasped.

"Go into the forest and wait for me, I'll come find you when this is all over—stick together!" Arthur insisted, then turned and ran with Bill, Percy, and Charlie toward the riot.

"Come on," George grabbed Ginny's hand and they made their way down the path which was jammed with people fleeing to safety. Fred hurried after his twin, trying to forget how he was feeling physically at the moment. They soon lost Ron, Harry, and Hermione in the crowd.

"What should we do?" Ginny wondered worriedly, glancing around the shadowy forest. The further they walked, the quieter it became.

"Dad said to wait here," Fred said wearily, leaning back against a tree. He slid down into a sitting position and stared at the ground, fatigue settling in.

"Right," George agreed, putting an arm around Ginny. "It'll be okay," he frowned down at Fred as he said this.

"Fred, George, is that you?" Alice called, running toward them in the darkness. "I'm so glad I found you, I don't know anyone around here and Mum and Dad went to help sort out this mess."

"Oh, hey Alice," Fred looked up, and climbed to his feet.

'Who's she?" Ginny demanded suspiciously.

"This is Alice Perry," George introduced her. "She just moved from America, and is going to start her sixth year at Hogwarts—Alice, this is our little sister, Ginny, she's in third year."

"Hi, Ginny," Alice grinned, extending her hand.

"Wow, you have really pretty looking eyes, that's not a normal color, is it?" Ginny smiled back, noticing Alice's unusual vibrant purple eyes.

"Well, I'll let you in on a little secret—my Mum is really into glamour spells, so I let her experiment with my look a lot," Alice explained. "She even does my hair; sometimes she tends to go a bit overboard, though."

"So _that _explains it," George muttered, and Fred elbowed him in the ribs.

"What are you _doing_ here, you've got a lot of nerve showing up tonight!" a familiar voice shouted, and everyone fell silent, listening in.

"I had no choice—they're here, I can sense it, and after my mission to incapacitate the Potter boy failed, killing them is the least I can do to get back in the Dark Lord's favor," a deeper male voice hissed.

"You _failed_?" the first voice scoffed, and Fred now recognized it as Draco Malfoy. "Just wait until m father hears about this!"

The sound of heavy breathing reached their ears as a long, awkward silence followed Draco's last words, and then the man spoke again, in a low, growling voice.

"Don't you dare slip a word of this to your father, do you understand me? Not a word!" he snapped. "You keep your mouth _shut_."

Draco chuckled. "We'll see," he replied, and Fred could just imagine the conniving look on his face.

"We should get back," Ginny whispered nervously, and backed into a fallen tree root. The resulting snap caused Draco and the other man to turn in their direction, their eyes boring into the trees that hid them.

"Someone followed us?" the man demanded in a panicked voice, and seconds later they heard a loud CRACK as he disapparated.

"Who's there?" Draco demanded, drawing his wand from his coat pocket and walking towards the trees.

Alice, Fred, George, and Ginny froze, wondering what they should do. Suddenly they heard Draco shout, "_IMPEDIMENTA_!" and the four of them were thrown backward as if struck by an invisible speeding bus. They landed heavily on the ground, bodies aching.

"That ought to teach you never to eavesdrop on private conversations!" Draco growled, advancing on them with his wand held high.

"Private? You were talking about Harry, if you do anything to hurt him—," Ginny began, and jumped to her feet along with the others.

"You'll what?" Draco grinned evilly. "Why so uptight, did your boyfriend forget to snog you before he off to fill his own selfish needs? Got rather tired of you already, eh?"

"Leave my sister out of this," Fred hissed, stepping in front of Ginny.

"Whatever—Potter's still in one piece, isn't he?" Draco smirked, and then gave Fred an appraising look. "You however don't look so good; what's wrong with you, Weasley, catch a bug from that filthy shack you call a home?" he sneered. "Which one are you anyway, you both have equal amounts of fleas."

"Malfoy," Ginny snarled like an angry cat and whipped out her wand, sending a bolt of energy flying at Draco.

A swarm of bats flew violently around Draco's head, biting at his face and neck, their high-pitched shrieks filling the night air. "Bloody Weasley—_FINITE INCANTATUM_!" Draco shouted, vanishing the bats with his wand. He quickly gained composure and retaliated. "_SERPENSORTIA_!"

A large snake emerged from the tip of Draco's wand and dropped to the ground. It slithered towards them, hissing, fangs bared, preparing to strike.

Ginny and Alice backed away, the four of them eyeing the snake apprehensively.

"That's a cheap trick, Malfoy," Fred commented lazily, not allowing the fear to let his guard down. "Did your daddy teach you that one? _WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA_!" he levitated the snake above ground and it writhed in the air, still hissing.

"I see where this is going," George grinned. "STUPEFY!" he aimed his wand at the snake and it went rigid, flying backward, but instead of hitting Draco in the face like he had intended, the snake vanished in a cloud of smoke when Draco waved his wand.

"What are you, stupid?" Draco laughed, shaking his head. "Thought you could pummel me with my own snake, really, use your brains—oh, that's right, you don't have any!"

Alice raised her wand ready to attack. "_HERBIVICUS_!" she yelled, and vines shot out of the ground, coiling around Draco's feet. He quickly dodged the spell before his legs were caught, grinning.

"Is that the best you can do, Perry?" Draco said coldly.

Everyone stared at him in shock. How could he, a fourth year, deflect every spell they cast? It was unbelievable.

"I've had enough of this—," Fred growled, pointing his wand at Draco and trying to think of the worst hex possible.

"_EXPELLIARMUS_!"

Fred's wand was blasted out of his hand, and Lucius Malfoy strode into the clearing, his face livid.

"I hate to break up this little party, but if you thought your behavior would go unnoticed if you decided to have a duel, you are surely mistaken," Lucius said in a low, dangerous voice, his eyes moving over each of them. "Really, Draco, four unto one? If you wanted so badly to show off your new skills I would have picked a stronger adversary."

"They were spying on me," Draco said accusingly.

"Well, then, at least you were winning—" Lucius cast a disdainful look at the three Weasleys. "Against these people I suppose there is no challenge, and—ah, Ms. Perry, lovely to see you again," his eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he smirked menacingly at Alice, then grabbed Draco roughly by the arm. "Come along, Draco."

The two of them disappeared down the forest path, and Fred, George, Ginny, and Alice were left standing alone.

"Well—Dad's probably worried, we should head back," George insisted, and they set off toward camp, each silently hoping the others were all right, and all eager for the night to end.

**R&R**


	5. Fear

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**.

"Arthur—you're back—everyone's all right? Molly Weasley's face was tight with worry the next morning when her family came trudging up the driveway, thankfully all intact. "Oh, I've been an absolute mess ever since I read The Prophet!" She flung herself at her children, smothering them in kisses and fussing about like a mother hen before Arthur pried her away, much to Fred's relief, because her sobs were deafening.

"Let's go in the house, I'm sure you haven't had breakfast yet, and I'm starving!" Arthur said cheerily, leading his wife into the crowded house.

Percy disappeared up to his room, but Bill helpfully set to work cooking breakfast for the rest of the family.

"Bill, really, you don't have to—," Molly protested while Arthur poured her a strong cup of tea. He passed the kettle around, and Fred took it gratefully, hoping a hot drink would rid him of his persistent headache. He figured that he was doing a fairly decent job of concealing his mysterious illness from the rest of the family. They didn't need the trouble right now.

George was growing suspicious, he could tell. His twin's eyes bore into him from across the table, as if trying to look into his soul and find out the truth. The problem was Fred didn't have a clue what was wrong with him. But as long as George kept his mouth shut to their parents, maybe Fred didn't have anything to worry about. Yet.

"It's no trouble, Mum," Bill insisted, cracking eggs into a large frying pan. The kitchen soon smelled of bacon and sizzling pancakes.

Arthur had no sooner dove into a stack of hot, buttery pancakes when a face appeared in the fireplace, and following a short conversation with the man, Arthur was off to work, much to Mrs. Weasley's disappointment.

"Well, I'm stuffed," Ron said at last, setting down his fork. "Anyone up for a game of Quidditch?"

"Me," Harry said automatically, swallowing a mouthful of bacon and jumping to his feet.

"Bill and I will play," Charlie said eagerly, piling their dirty dishes in the sink.

"Yeah, me and Fred too!" George exclaimed, volunteering them both. Bless him, Fred thought sarcastically.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but followed them all outside where they collected their brooms from the shed, and then out to the field near the orchard at the end of the Weasleys' property. "Ginny and I'll watch, somebody has to stick around in case one of you numbskulls is injured," she said good-naturedly.

Ginny laughed. She caught Fred's eye while Bill and Charlie were busy assembling teams.

"What's on your mind, Ginny?" Fred wondered, taking her aside.

"I was just thinking about what happened with Draco in the forest," Ginny whispered. "I'm worried about Harry, what if that man tries to hurt him again—do you think he'll go after him at Hogwarts?"

Fred bit his lower lip, contemplating Ginny's words. "Ginny, we don't even know who that guy was, or even what he was talking about, really," he insisted. "From the sound of it, he messed up, and I don't think he'll likely be trusted again to go near Harry, so I'm sure everything will be okay."

"You promise?" Ginny insisted.

"Yeah, no more worries, little sister," Fred gave Ginny a quick hug before joining the others.

"Okay, Harry and Fred, you're on my team," Bill announced. "George and Ron will be on Charlie's team, so that should give us all an equal advantage," he explained, since neither he nor Ron was all that great at Quidditch.

"Great, let's go," Charlie grinned, and mounted his broom. They all rose into the air at once, and the game was on. They used apples in place of the bludgers and quaffles, and flew fairly low to prevent visibility to Muggles in the nearby village. Bill had even enchanted a broach of Mrs. Weasley's to pose as the Snitch.

Fred gripped the handle of his broom tightly with one hand, swinging his bat to knock the apples off course while Bill scored goals for them as the Chaser. Years of playing a Beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team had gifted Fred with extraordinary balance, and he had no problem remaining on his broom whilst sending apples in Charlie and Ron's direction.

They were all laughing, Hermione and Ginny were cheering; apples flew back and forth and it was all in good fun until suddenly Fred noticed his left foot had fallen asleep, followed almost immediately by his right, and before he had time to react to the tingling pain that had so quickly surfaced, it was gone, replaced by a horrifying feeling of nothingness, as if his feet were no longer there. Then, it was as if his legs had disintegrated beneath him, for now he could no longer feel _them_.

Suddenly he was falling; dizziness enveloped him like a fog, and he slid limply off his broom and tumbled to the ground, unconsciousness rapidly blocking out his surrounding, turning all his thoughts into ever approaching blackness.

"FRED!" Bill's scream sounded as if it were coming to him though a long tunnel.

Fred was still lingering on the edge of consciousness when the ground smashed into him. Pain exploded in every part of his body, and then everything went black.

"Hey, I think he's coming around," a disembodied voice swam in an out of Fred's hearing range, followed shortly by other voices, and they all sounded oddly familiar.

"It's about time; the git's been out for _ages_." He recognized this voice as George, and was unnerved by the trace of fear in his twin's voice.

"Oh, Freddie, wake up, Mummy's here." Another voice, his mother's, and she sounded like she had been crying. She must be worried if she was calling him Freddie. He hated that nickname, it was dreadfully childish; possibly Ego destroying.

"Do you see now why I never play Quidditch?" He heard Percy's voice loud and clear, the insufferable older brother that he was. "It's a dangerous game, and I have no desire to nearly get myself _killed_."

"Ah, Percy, you don't know what's good for you," Fred said weakly. The first thing he saw upon opening his eyes were faces flooded by relief.

"You're awake," his father said brightly, and he seemed to let out the breath he had been holding.

"Obviously, he's the only one of us who sounds like a dying cat," George grinned.

Fred smiled at his brother's joke. He struggled to remember what happened. Oh, right, he'd fallen off his broom. The last thing he could clearly remember was his legs feeling like they had dropped off his body. But there they were, he could see them under the sheets, so they hadn't fallen off. The scary thing was he couldn't feel them. He couldn't move them, so how could he possibly _walk_?

"I'll go find the Healer," Bill said, and disappeared out the door.

"How do you feel, sweetie?" Molly asked once Bill had gone, leaning over to fluff Fred's pillow. Ack, she was going to coddle him like an invalid. He hated that.

"I feel like I fell off a broom," Fred said a little more defensively than he meant to; the pounding in his head had definitely taken a turn for the worst. "Why hasn't a Healer been in here?"

"They have," Arthur said uncomfortably. "Almost around the clock since you were brought in. There were complications—you started running a high fever last night and they had a difficult time healing your injuries. You had a fractured skull and you broke several ribs and your collarbone; busted up you arm pretty good, too, but they were able to patch everything up mostly, except for your legs."

"Meaning…?" Fred asked.

"You're paralyzed," Arthur said bluntly. "The funny thing is the Healers were able to determine the paralysis occurred before you fell, so they called in a specialist to find out why."

Fred pondered his last words. Something told him the paralysis had a lot to do with the headaches he'd been getting recently. "What sort of specialist?" he said out loud, looking doubtful.

No sooner had the words left his mouth, the ward door opened and Bill walked in with a man he'd never seen before. He was average height with short black hair, blue eyes and a freaky looking goatee.

George tried to suppress a giggle, but it slipped out and Percy shot him a contemptuous glare.

"Hello there," the man extended his hand but Fred refused to touch it. There was something about this guy that gave him the creeps. "You must be Fred. I'm Edmund Gray, and I'll be handling your case."

"Just what sort of specialist are you?" George asked, picking up on Fred's thoughts immediately.

"I'm a Neurologist," Healer Gray explained.

"Say what?" Fred demanded.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot to mention that I'm Muggle born," Healer Gray said quickly. "Neurology is the study of the brain—I've worked in Muggle hospitals for many years, and I just recently transferred to St. Mungo's. I'm very eager to continue my practice here using the magical method rather than what I grew accustomed to during my time with the Muggles."

"Well isn't that lovely," Molly said tensely.

"So you're a wizard? Charlie spoke up.

"Of course," Healer Gray insisted, showing them his wand. "I chose to work with Muggles because I was intrigued by their way of life; I've had my fair share of practice with medicine in the Magical world as well, so don't worry, you're in good hands," he nodded in Fred's direction.

Healer Gray shook hands with the rest of the family, and after Molly planted an embarrassing wet kiss on Fred's forehead, they all trooped out of the ward, leaving him in silence.

Fred noted that Healer Gray hadn't said 'you'll be in _excellent _hands.' He slid down under his blankets and stared at the ceiling, consumed by unimaginable fear. He had a sinking feeling that Healer Gray was going to be his worst nightmare.

**R&R**


	6. The Trials of Draco Malfoy

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

**A/N: Here is a little filler chapter explaining some things about Draco that were alluded to in previous chapters. Enjoy!**

Draco knew he was in trouble. Ever since they had returned from the World Cup, he could feel his father's eyes burning into him, and ever so often his hand tightened around the snake walking stick he always carried. When Narcissa was around Lucius knew he would not get away with punishing Draco—at least not in the manner that he would like to, and for that, Draco was grateful.

But his luck ran out two days after the Cup. Narcissa had gone shopping for Draco's school supplies, deciding against taking him to Diagon Alley with her because she wanted to surprise him with a brand new set of dress robes.

Draco was in the sitting room lounging on the sofa, twirling his wand idly between his hands and thinking about his run-in with the Weasleys when his father appeared in the archway, casting a shadow across the plush carpet and making Draco involuntarily shudder. He was one to boast he was not afraid of anything, but when it came to his father being angry, Draco had his limits.

"Draco, we need to talk," Lucius said firmly, his voice laced with disapproval.

_Here it comes,_ Draco groaned. _Oh well, can't avoid him forever, can I_?

"What?" Draco said out loud, craning his neck to look up at his father.

"I think you know _what,"_ Lucius snarled. "Go my study—_now."_

Draco heaved himself up from the sofa and followed his father through their lavish mansion into Lucius' private study. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a Slytherin tapestry adorned one wall opposite a bay window overlooking the Malfoy property. A fancy mahogany desk held parchment and a feather quill; evidence of his father's many connections littered the desk—charity donations, various documents with the Hogwarts seal, and ledgers all bore Lucius Malfoy's sprawling signature.

"I am very disappointed in you," Lucius growled, bringing Draco abruptly out of his thoughts. "Your behavior at the World Cup was absolutely disgraceful—do you have any idea how embarrassed your mother and I am to admit that you were seen dueling with those—_Blood Traitors_—when I was out risking my neck during the riot? I told you to wait in the forest until we were finished, not go gallivanting about picking fights!"

"That's the problem—you made me go hide like some defenseless little kid!" Draco shouted. "Don't you think I'm capable of helping you, I got Knox to stay out of sight, didn't I?" Suddenly he reeled back as Lucius' gloved hand connected with his face. Blood spurted from Draco's nose, and he reached up with one hand to stem the flow of blood with his sleeve, glaring up at his father through a steadily swelling eye.

"How dare you speak to me in such a tone, I am your father," Lucius hissed. "I don't think you quite understand what is at stake here! You cannot risk putting yourself in any situation that will deter your training; you're young, versatile, the Dark Lord will need you when he returns to power, we've discussed this before!"

His shouts fell upon deaf ears as Draco heard only that his father did not trust him. He had felt the pressure weighing down on him ever since he had been inducted as a Death Eater-In-Training. For years his father had spoke of the Dark Lord's return, lived by the hope of his return, _prepared_ for his return, and Draco realized that day was drawing closer, yet in his father's eyes, he was merely a child, a nuisance to contend with.

"When Voldemort comes back, he won't care about all that nonsense, as long as I'm there when he calls!" Draco shouted, renewed anger rising inside him. He turned away from his father and started to walk out of the room.

"You insolent little—," Lucius struck Draco across the back with his walking stick. Intense pain caused Draco to fall forward, and once he was on the ground the blows kept coming; Lucius poured his frustrations out into his son. "I did not raise you to speak of the Dark Lord in such disrespectful terms—you are to address him as _My Lord_, do you understand me? He is our master, and don't you ever forget that!"

"How can I? You remind me every day," Draco said weakly, though through the haze he was able to fix his father with a withering glare. If he didn't assert himself now, his father would never \treat him as an equal.

Lucius jerked Draco upward by one arm, and he heard a sickening crack as the bone broke.

"Don't play games with me," Lucius hissed low in his ear, and then flung Draco to the floor once again.

White-hot pain erupted through Draco's body. His father's voice faded in and out until finally, he heard no more.


	7. The Cat's Out Of The Bag

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

"Mr. Malfoy, I assure you, we're doing our best to see to it that your son gets the best care possible, but right now, we just don't have a private room available, so he'll have to stay in the ward until a healer can tend to him."

Fred awoke to the sound of a woman's voice. He only had to hear her first two words to realize his troubles were far from over. _Did she say Mr. Malfoy? You have to be bloody kidding me,_ he thought, wishing he had the physical ability to run out of there as fast as possible. But that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

"I pay good money to keep this place running; the least you can do is pull some strings to provide my son with more suitable accommodations!" Lucius Malfoy shouted, his leering profile moving into Fred's line of sight, and the look on his face was enough to make anyone cringe; but the nurse or whoever she was didn't waver.

"I understand that, but you'll just have to wait," she snapped, her eyes blazing. "Once the healer arrives, he'll have the scarring fixed up and you won't have to worry about staying any longer than you want to." She picked up her clipboard and walked out of the ward, leaving Lucius standing there infuriated.

"This is ridiculous—come on Draco, I know someone who is much more qualified in healing than these incompetent fools," Lucius growled, motioning for his son to get up and follow him outside.

"I'm perfectly comfortable here, thanks," Draco insisted from his bed.

""Draco, please," Lucius sighed, rubbing his temples in an effort to keep his temper in check.

"Fine, but if it's Snape you're talking about, I'd rather take my chances," Draco grumbled, heaving himself out of bed, fueled more by laziness than pain. The healers had done a miraculous job on his injuries; only loathsome scars remained. They left the room, and Fred was glad he had gone relatively unnoticed.

Left in silence once again, Fred reached for a glass of water on his nightstand, suddenly noticing that he was dying of thirst. His fingers barely brushed against the glass; farther out of his reach than he had anticipated, it toppled over and spilled down the side of the table onto the floor. He considered calling for a nurse, but noting the mood of the woman who had just left, he decided against it. Instead, he grabbed onto the headboard with one hand and used it as leverage to pull himself closer to the side of the bed, leaning down to find the fallen cup. This plan didn't work out so well, because, after a moment of searching blindly with one hand, he bent his upper body over the side of the bed and ended up hanging practically upside down because he couldn't pull himself back up.

"Having trouble?" Healer Gray's voice would have made him jump if he wasn't already in such an awkward position. "Lana, if you will…" he said, motioning to his nurse, the same woman he'd seen before, Fred realized after rolling his eyes upward to look at her. She helped Fred get settled back into his bed, something that embarrassed him, bothered him more than he was willing to admit; he'd never felt so helpless. Lana conjured another pitcher of water with a wave of her wand.

"Do you need anything else?" Lana asked.

"No thank you, Lana, you may be excused," Healer Gray said without even looking at her. After she had gone his eyes narrowed into little slits. "I would advise you not to try that again; in case you haven't noticed, young man, your legs sustained some pretty heavy damage, and the last thing you need is to injure yourself even more, do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah," Fred said tonelessly. _What does he think I am, an idiot?_ He thought venomously. How could he possibly injure himself more, his legs were two dead weights; although the healers had already mended the injuries to his arm and chest, his midsection still hurt whenever he moved; that would take time to heal, but the worst part was the ever present headache that had plagued him without respite for days now. It pounded and throbbed against his skull, making it hard to concentrate much on anything.

"Now," Healer Gray continued. "The first thing I'd like to do is discuss your accident. It's standard procedure with all patients, because I need to know exactly what happened." He withdrew a small vial from his lime green robe pocket. "I'm just going to slip you a bit of pain reliever before we get started." He handed Fred the vial of clear liquid. It looked harmless enough, and Fred swallowed it hoping maybe it would bring him some relief.

It didn't. Okay, maybe it was too much to ask for an immediate change in the way he was feeling. Maybe he'd have to give it some time.

"Did my parents go home?" Fred wondered, thinking of George and how worried his twin must be; but Healer Gray ignored his question and regarded him with a rather unnerving look.

"When you were first brought in yesterday afternoon, we ran a few diagnostic measures to determine the extent of your injuries," Healer Gray explained, using big words that Fred neither understood nor cared about. _Diagnostic measures…sound painful if you ask me, _he thought

"Yeah, so?" Fred rolled his eyes at the ceiling, wishing he had a pillow so he could at least sit up straight. He tried to hide his disgust when Healer Gray pulled up a chair beside his bed and peered deep into his eyes like he was trying to pry into his mind.

"Our tests concluded that you suffered no injury to your spinal cord, which, normally if damaged in the right place, would cause paralysis to the lower extremities," Healer Gray said bluntly.

"What does that mean?" Fred asked.

"It means that your paralysis occurred before you fell off your broom, Mr. Weasley," Healer Gray answered. "I'd like you to think back to these last few weeks. Have there been any changes in your health that you haven't told anyone?"

Fred bit his lower lip, debating on a reply. Letting the cat out of the bag now would save him from dealing with this problem alone. But his parents would be angry if they knew he had kept the headaches a secret, allowing them to grow worse until finally—he was paralyzed? His mother would have a fit.

"I've been getting these really bad headaches for about three days," Fred confessed, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop himself. Why had he told, why couldn't he have just kept quiet and waited until this so-called specialist found a miracle cure?

"Interesting," Healer Gray smiled, jotting notes down on a little clipboard. "How old are you, Mr. Weasley?"

"16," Fred muttered, wondering why it mattered.

"Mr. Weasley, are you engaging in any illegal activity that might lead to these headaches?"

_What was this guy's obsession with calling him Mr. Weasley?_

"I don't know what you mean," Fred said truthfully. He and George were just starting to develop some joke candy, but he was sure that none of the ingredients they used were dangerous enough to cause paralysis.

"Are you on drugs, Mr. Weasley?" Healer Gray clarified. Working with the Muggles, he had learned a lot about their culture, and knew that some Muggles took illegal drugs to 'feel good' as they put it, and that often led to neurological defects.

"No," Fred insisted, closing his eyes for a second to block out the bright lights in the room. Why would this healer think he intentionally wanted to hurt himself?

Healer Gray seemed satisfied with his answer, because he closed the cover of his clipboard and stood up. "That's all I need for now," he said, straightening the collar of his robes and tucking his quill away. "I think it would be best if you rested up, I want to start running tests in the morning."

That didn't sound fun at all.

"Sure," Fred mumbled, his eyes drooping as he spoke. If he kept falling asleep like this, he was never going to find out what was going on. The last thing he heard before falling asleep was someone in the hall yelling about 'charity' and 'you owe me that much'.

Hospitals were bloody annoying.

**R&R**


	8. Nightmares

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

**A/N: This chapter is a Two-Parter due to length. Part Two will be posted in a few days. **

Morning came all too soon for Fred. The moment he opened his eyes and allowed himself to adjust to the eerie quiet, the door swung open and Lana bounced in, a huge smile on her face; two food trays floated in front of her—wait—two?

"Mr. Malfoy, the healer should be ready for you this afternoon," Lana explained, pulling the curtain aside to reveal Draco sitting on a bed looking irritated and disgusted with everyone he deemed below him as usual.

"He'd better, my father wanted me out of here yesterday," Draco spat, looking disdainfully at the food she set in front of him.

"The healer who specializes in scar removal has been on vacation," Lana said cheerfully, trying to hide the disapproval in her voice. She turned away from Draco and put Fred's tray on a bedside table that swung over his bed.

Grateful that he didn't have to balance the tray in his lap, Fred decided he could manage to force down some breakfast. But as he ate he realized with a pang that the sausage didn't taste like his mother made it, the toast was dry, and the eggs were slimy and cold.

"Mr. Weasley, I'll be back in a few minutes to take you for your first test," Lana spoke up, taking their empty trays and leaving the room, her blonde ponytail swinging annoyingly behind her.

"Can't wait," Fred said sarcastically. He wondered what the nurse has meant when she was talking about scar removal. What scars could Draco possibly have, he paraded himself around like he was Mr. Perfect, the little git.

"Weasley is that you?" Draco's voice cut into his thoughts, and he cringed, dreading another confrontation.

"Guilty," Fred muttered, not looking over at him.

"What happened, you look _terrible_," Draco sneered, emphasizing the last word, a grin spreading across his face. "You look worse than Potter after a Quidditch match, and that's saying a lot! I'll bet your being here is racking up quite a bill for your loser parents, they might even have to sell their house to pay for it," he laughed and Fred wanted to lunge at him and rip his throat out. But his headache was flaring up again with a vengeance.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Fred growled, not believing his rotten luck. How did he get stuck with Draco as a roommate? Draco's laughter shattered through his subconscious, the noise intensifying his pain like knives driving into his brain. He didn't think things could get any worse.

Alice Perry, the daughter of former Death Eaters, was ashamed of the events lingering in her family's not so distant past. She knew that times had changed, and they were much happier than during the war, but sometimes, when she was alone with her thoughts old feelings of dread would creep up to haunt her. She had been three years old when her parents fled England, so her memories were clouded, but the way people looked at her was always the same, as if she were a traitor; and it didn't matter whose side they were on.

She wandered over to her vanity and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Changing times called for a new look; she wanted everyone to know her for who she really was. Taking her wand, she pointed it at herself and uttered an incantation. At once, her hair shortened to curl just below her ears, dark brown instead of black, and her eyes turned dark blue. Her skin, once alabaster, darkened slightly, and revealed a not-so-perfect complexion.

She smiled at herself in the mirror experimentally, cringing at her front teeth, which had been crooked all her life; braces hadn't helped. She almost changed her face back, but stopped, knowing that in order to start anew she had to accept herself the way she was, which was not bad looking, but still there were elements of her appearance that bothered her.

"Oh well, it's all part of being a teenager," Alice muttered, wondering if her mother knew a spell to get rid of acne and not just mask it.

"Alice, there's a letter for you," her mother's voice called up the stairs, and she wondered who would be writing to her. Her summer had been long and boring except for the World Cup, and she was getting anxious to return to start at Hogwarts.

"Coming, Mom," Alice addressed her mother in the traditional American way; having grew up in the States she was not used to the British style of speaking, and her accent was almost indistinguishable. She ran downstairs to their modest living room, where the family owl, Riley, was preening herself by the open window. She took the letter from her mother, curiosity giving way to excitement.

She tore open the envelope and scanned the unfamiliar handwriting:

_Dear Alice, _

_You might not remember me; I'm Ginny, Fred and George's little sister. How are you? We have been really busy since the World Cup. _

_I know you probably don't have many friends yet so our friend Hermione suggested that you come over for a visit. It is fine with my Mum and Dad if you want to come, and I'm sure it would cheer George up, he's been depressed since Fred went off to visit our Auntie Muriel without him. _

_It would be great if you joined us, we live just outside the village in Ottery St. Catchpole. Our house isn't hard to miss, we have so many rooms they are literally stacked on top of one another, and there are lots of chickens. _

_Hope to see you soon,_

_Ginny Weasley_

Her face brightened as she finished reading the letter. The Weasleys had invited her to visit them! It looked like the rest of her summer wouldn't be so dull after all.

"Can I go, Mom, _please_?" Alice turned pleading eyes on her mother. "You remember me telling you about Fred, George, and Ginny, right?"

"I think so, dear," Cady, her mother, read the letter over her shoulder. "Your father and I are going to Diagon Alley tomorrow to speak with the bank, but I don't see why you can't go hang out with your friends," she placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder, happy that at least now she seemed to be making friends.

"Thanks, Mom!" Alice hugged her mother, who smiled, relieved that their chaotic life was finally settling down.

Many people say that in dreams, you often confront your fears. Sometimes you come up against fears that you were not aware of to begin with. Fred did not remember falling asleep, but exhaustion got the better of him and soon, he found himself walking through the forest. It was dark, the horizon tinged with only the faintest of color; shadows danced through the trees, which themselves resembled grotesque skeletons, their limbs shaking in the wind, rattling like chains against flesh as they fought to get free.

Voices beckoned to him in the twilight. Hands appeared to reach out, begging for release from an unforeseen enemy. Fred ran blindly into the dark, uncertain of where he was going or how he had come to be there in the first place. He bolted from the voices that called to him, their cries echoing in his ears, growing louder until they were high-pitched screams of terror that left him pain-riddled and frantic.

"You are not the one I seek," a disembodied voice rang out, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"Who are you?" Fred demanded, his own voice sounding strained with fear. He wasn't afraid of anything as long as George was at his side. But George was gone. He was left alone to tackle the darkness that was his own nightmare.

"That is not important," the voice chortled, and a figure advanced though the fog, tall and menacing. As it drew closer Fred saw a man's face twisted with evil. "But I must work to render my mistakes."

"What do you want?" Fred asked. He backed away, shivering violently. The air had suddenly grown cold.

The man's answer was simple.

"_You_."

Fred's eyes shot open, and he struggled to sit up in bed, failing miserably, sweating profusely. His heart pounded against his ribs and his head was on the verge of exploding.

"Mr. Weasley the healer will see you now," Lana brought him abruptly back to reality.

Fred shook his head to clear it, staring around at his surroundings. It had all been a horrible dream, he realized; but the pain he was experiencing right now, was not, and he longed to just go back to sleep, no matter what horrors awaited him.

But he had to deal with Healer Gray first.

He allowed Lana to help him into a wheelchair. Fiercely independent, Fred had never needed so much help in his life. He felt pathetic; he couldn't even go to the bathroom by himself now, someone had to take him. He tried not to sink into the depression that was threatening to hold him down, thinking instead of how he was going to handle Healer Gray's tests.

The hallway outside his ward was lit by pale globes, and the paintings that lined the walls talked amongst themselves as Lana pushed him past them and into a small room at the end of the hall. Healer Gray greeted Lana at the door, and the next thing Fred knew, he was laying on a bed and Lana was fixing a mask like contraption over his nose and mouth.

"Wait—," Fred tried to protest, shock and confusion instantly taking over as he struggled not to breathe in the sweet smelling fumes.

"Don't worry, we're just giving you something to help you relax," Healer Gray explained in a no-nonsense tone that didn't ease Fred's anxiety in the slightest.

Fred was beginning to feel lightheaded, a heavy fog clouded his vision and he reached up with one hand to tear the mask from his face. "No—what are you doing?" he croaked, realizing with a pang that he didn't want to go to sleep, who knew what this guy was going to do?

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to explain the procedure," Healer Gray said quickly, although he did not look very sorry. "We're going to do a lumbar puncture. I want to test your spinal fluid for infections so I'm going to poke a needle into your spinal column and draw out some fluid. It might hurt and you have to keep absolutely still so I think a Full Body Bind would be best—Lana?" He gestured toward the nurse, who withdrew her wand and pointed it at Fred, who felt his body go rigid.

_Great, that does it for an escape_, he thought angrily. Healer Gray was not very good at informing his patients, and he had the worst bedside manner Fred had ever seen.

He tried to keep his mind on other things, but when he felt something cold spray against his bare back and glimpsed the foot-long needle in Healer Gray's hand, it was all he could do to keep from screaming inside. The moment he sensed the needle go in, he realized that whoever coined the phrase 'No Pain, No Gain' was obviously crazy. It was unbearable, even worse than the headaches that had plagued him all this time.

He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was a procedure developed by Muggle doctors. _Why the hell was Healer Gray using Muggle remedies, was he out of his mind?!_

And then no sooner had the pain began, it was gone; Lana flicked her wand and he could move again, even if it was just his upper body. She rolled him over onto his back and then, as if his body hadn't betrayed him enough, his headache intensified.

Seeing the look of discomfort on his face, Lana smiled sympathetically. "Sometimes that happens, honey, it's a side-effect."

"Lana can give you something for the pain once she's finished with your blood work," Healer Gray spoke up, and left the room without another word.

By that afternoon, Lana had definitely proved her worth in Fred's book. She was holding his hair out of his face while he puked into a basin. Nausea, he quickly learned, was another unfortunate side-effect of Healer Gray's ridiculous test, and he had been throwing up steadily for several hours now. His mum would not be pleased if he ever got out of the hospital alive, because his appetite had taken a trip out the door.

"Hey, Weasley," Draco called, sauntering into the ward on his two good legs, regarding Fred with his head bent over the side of his bed; an amused smile graced Draco's lips, because only he would find enjoyment in someone else's suffering.

"What, Malfoy?" Fred groaned, returning to his bed and relishing the cool washcloth that Lana placed on his forehead.

"It looks like you won't be playing Beater for the Gryffindor team this year," Draco commented. "I haven't read the rule book lately, but last I check they don't accommodate for cripples." His grin was almost too much for Fred to take, but that's when Lana stepped in.

"Mr. Malfoy, I have had quite enough of you, and if you keep up this behavior, I will be forced to move you upstairs where you can spend the rest of your stay addressing Gilderoy Lockhart's fan mail!" Lana shouted, her words causing Draco to pale considerably.

"You wouldn't," Draco hissed.

Lana glared at him sternly and he scowled, throwing her an obscene gesture and storming out of the room.

"You just made my day, love," Fred said jokingly, grinning for the first time in days.

**R&R**


	9. Nightmares II

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: This chapter was Co-Written with Llcatz. **

Fred dropped the letter he had got from Ginny and wished that he could see George's face. His family had not been allowed to see him much, because Healer Gray thought it would deter his recovery. Ginny had wrote that Alice had stopped by yesterday. They had spent the afternoon playing around in the yard with Bill and Charlie, and his mother had taken a liking to Alice, who even stayed for dinner. Alice…he hadn't thought about her since his accident. He was missing out on so much, and he hated it.

Draco was lying on his bed with about sixty sheets of paper spread out in front of him, folding paper airplanes. He threw one at Fred and it bounced off his leg, although not unnoticed. Draco continued throwing planes, working his way up Fred's body until he got a reaction.

"Draco, stop it," Fred growled, tearing the plane on his chest in half.

"Someone's cranky," Draco laughed, throwing another plane.

"Mr. Malfoy, leave Mr. Weasley alone," Lana said, fixing Fred's bedcovers. Fred noticed Draco drop a pile of papers on the ground.

"Lana, could you pick those up for me?" Draco asked, feigning weakness.

"You can walk, Mr. Malfoy, pick them up yourself," Lana said testily, fixing him with an annoyed look.

"But my leg hurts from the cuts," Draco whined, and Fred wondered at the mysterious tone in his voice. What exactly had happened to him?

"I'm sure it is," Lana snapped, bending down to pick up the papers. Draco stared openly at her backside, and Fred rolled his eyes in disgust. The nurse stood up and shoved the papers into Draco's lap.

"Pig," Fred hissed at him once Lana had turned her back.

"Don't act like you didn't look," Draco smiled, and began singing 'A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love'. "Oh, come and stir my cauldron, and if you do it right, I'll boil you some hot strong love to keep you warm tonight…"

"Shut up!" Fred snapped, resisting the urge to find his wand and hex Draco into oblivion. "You are so gross; don't you have any respect for anyone?

"I didn't make up the song," Draco insisted, rubbing his leg. The healers at St. Mungo's didn't do a very good job fixing his injuries in his opinion. What more could you expect from Half Bloods and Mudbloods alike?

"What's wrong with you anyway?" Fred demanded, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

"Nothing," Draco insisted, climbing out of bed and leaving the room.

Fred sighed and stared up at the ceiling. His neck and back were beginning to hurt from lying in bed for so long. He closed his eyes, ready to give in to the fatigue that had suddenly washed over him. He really didn't feel well, and Draco was just making it worse.

About fifteen minutes later, Fred had just started to doze off when Draco returned with a bouncy ball. He sat on his bed and began to throw it continuously against the wall and cabinets. They rattled loudly, increasing Fred's headache.

"Draco, can't you find anything quiet to do?" he groaned.

"Not right now," Draco said lazily, growing bored with the ball he had nicked off a little kid in the nearby ward. He got up restlessly and left the room once more, coming back with a quill which he placed on his bed. He proceeded to wander out again and again, each time returning with a random object: a rubber duck, a baby toy, a bracelet, a gold coin, a wristwatch, a sketch book, a radio; and even a game system Fred recognized as a Gameboy from Harry's many stories about Dudley.

"Where are you getting all this stuff?" Fred wondered when Draco came in carrying a sleek black cat.

"I don't know," Draco shrugged, sitting back on his bed and throwing everything but the sketch book, quill, and cat onto the floor.

Fred rubbed his eyes. For some reason they itched and were beginning to water.

"Is it healthy to have that cat in here?" he complained, wondering vaguely if he had developed an allergy to cats as a result of his illness. You never know.

"Of course, this is my cat, not a stray," Draco insisted, petting the animal. It purred contently and stared around the room with wide, shining eyes. "My dad dropped her off to keep me company." He had opened the sketch book, and was doodling idly with the quill.

Fred noticed this out of the corner of his eye. "What are you drawing?" Fred sighed, knowing Draco would probably tell him sooner or later just to annoy him. "And it still can't be healthy to have that cat in here."

"Are you allergic, Flea?" Draco scoffed, not looking up.

"Yeah, I think I am," Fred muttered.

"Sucks to be you," Draco said callously. "Here, don't say I never gave you anything."

"What?" Fred asked, confused. Draco set up the drawing near Fred's feet, which actually would have been very good if it hadn't been of Fred picking his nose. Draco was even more childish than he and George put together, Fred realized. He attempted to push himself up on his pillows and reach for the picture.

"Why did you draw that, you know when I get it I'm gonna destroy it," he growled, his anger boiling slowly to the surface.

"Good luck with that," Draco laughed, fiddling with the knobs on his radio and turning the volume up full blast. The Weird Sisters blasted out of the wireless.

Fred muttered an obscenity under his breath, rubbing his temples in an effort to assuage the pain. "Draco could you turn that down, I have a headache," he yelled sharply.

"What? I can't hear you," Draco shouted over the radio.

Lana walked in carrying a glass of water and some wet towels. "Mr. Malfoy, turn that off you're disturbing the other patients," she growled, handing Fred the water. "Here's your pain medication, Mr. Weasley."

Fred drank the potion willingly, hoping it brought sleep so he could block out Draco. She draped the towels over his forehead and neck, then, shooting Draco a warning glance, left the room.

Draco shut off the radio and began to play with the rubber duck, which emitted a loud squeaking sound. Fred soon learned its function and reminded himself to tell his father. The purpose of a rubber duck was to annoy the living hell out of someone. _Namely me_, he thought miserably.

To Fred's relief, however, he didn't have long to suffer because Lana came back in and took the duck. She was quick, that one.

"Now what am I supposed to do?" Draco yelled after her. He noticed Fred watching her leave and mistook his gratitude for something else. Draco took that as his cue to bust into a chorus of 'You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me'.

"Can't you be quiet for five minutes," Fred moaned into his pillow.

"Fine," Draco sighed, and leaned forward, staring intently at Fred.

"Stop staring," Fred groaned, attempting to hide under his bedcovers. "Didn't your mother teach you not to stare?"

"Yeah, my nannies did; my mother never taught me anything," Draco replied, still staring. He abruptly fell silent as Fred began to drift off to sleep.

_It's about time…_

"So Fred, when's the last time they carted you off to the showers?" Draco asked; his voice shattering the fragile barrier around Fred's subconscious.

"Three hours ago," Fred mumbled, jumping awake. Draco's voice cut through the silence like a deadly weapon.

"Well doesn't your mom know how to do laundry, you smell," Draco stated, knowing this would get a reaction out of any Weasley because they were notoriously poor.

"Malfoy, shut up and go sing to your cat or something," Fred muttered, watching Draco's cat lounge on his bed through blurring vision.

"Go shag the nurse," Draco hissed, obviously way out of line. The grin on his face was cold and uncaring. The same look resonated in his eyes, and Fred wished he would just fall through the floor and be eaten alive by starving dragons.

About half and hour later Draco had finally fallen asleep, after spending twenty minutes playing with his squeaky bed tray.

Fred drifted in and out of sleep, and upon one of his waking moments he glanced over since the light was still on, and saw Draco cuddling with his cat. Normally a scene like that would make Fred laugh until he nearly wet himself, but right now he was to exhausted and sick to care. The sight disturbed him more than anything, and the bloody cat was causing his eyes to water horribly.

Draco was sweating in his sleep and continually resituating, making his bed creak. Fred heard a small almost undetectable noise that soon turned to screaming.

"No, Father, don't…Father stop…Father _STOP_…please, stop… I won't do it again… Father I'm sorry!" Draco shrieked and thrashed around, screaming. "My leg, I can't feel my leg…stop, stop!"

The cat howled, leaping off the bed onto the night table.

"Nurse…Nurse!" Fred shouted before Lana rushed in.

"What happened?" Lana demanded, attempting to restrain Draco who was easily throwing her off. "Man, this kid's strong; he doesn't look it!"

"Make him stop," Fred cried out, Draco's screams growing shrill and giving him a migraine, disturbing him to the very core. The kid was a total git, but what could possibly make him have nightmares like that?

Healer Gray suddenly appeared in the room, placing a cloth over Fred's nose and mouth, causing him to slip into unconsciousness.

It took three more healers and nearly three hours to get Draco under control. When Fred woke up, groggy and lightheaded, Draco had his wand pointed directly in Fred's eyes.

"You still alive?" Draco asked sardonically.

"Yeah…what were you dreaming about last night?" Fred asked weakly.

Draco avoided his question. "Pansy Parkinson sent me a letter. My dad dropped it off with my backpack of stuff to do. I didn't know what to do about it but the letter made my backpack reek like her perfume; I hate that smell but it rubs off on me when she hangs on me, she worships me. We dated over the summer, but I'm regretting it now." He paused for breath, and then to Fred's annoyance, continued talking. "I want to dump her; I've cheated on her anyway.

"Shut up," Fred growled, and then a thought occurred to him. "When does your cat go to the bathroom?" Hopefully the mangy animal hadn't left a surprise for him to contend with.

"I paid an intern to take her outside every hour," Draco said absently. "By the way, I went through your stuff and your sister put tampons in your coat pocket; unless they belong to you," he said rudely.

_What the hell is his problem?_ Fred thought hotly. He never should have let Ginny borrow that jacket. Obviously there was a price to pay for being nice to your little sister.

Draco grinned suddenly. "I'll pay you five galleons to run across the room," he said, eyeing Fred with a cruel sense of mockery.

"I can't you git," Fred growled; the realization of just how helpless he was crashed over him like a cold wave at Draco's words. He couldn't walk across the room, let alone run.

"Fine," Draco sighed, and fell silent.

An eerie quiet descended upon the room and threatened to splinter Fred's nerves; the silence was almost too much to take, because a silent Draco surely meant an incoming disaster—he was probably plotting something, and Fred wasn't sure if he wanted to know what. But he couldn't stand it anymore.

"Draco, what are you doing?" Fred demanded. "Draco, I changed my mind, talk, make noise." He turned his head in Draco's direction and saw that he was reading a Dark Arts book. "Draco, hello, Earth to Draco," he called hoping to get some sort of reply.

Draco began flipping through the pages as noisily as possible, sighing loudly.

"What?" Fred snapped. His head throbbed and ached, and to top it all off he was beginning to feel nauseous. _Probably the pain medication_, he thought. That was just what he needed right now, to start throwing up in front of Draco so he could torment him even more.

Lana bounced in, a perky smile pasted on her face as she carried in Draco's lunch. "Mr. Weasley, only fluids for you today, you have tests this afternoon."

"Great," Fred grumbled.

"I want some cake—chocolate cake," Draco spoke up, sneering in Fred's direction.

"Malfoy, shut up," Fred muttered, wishing he would just leave him alone. Draco began eating his lunch, and then took out a stick of bubblegum and popping it annoyingly in his mouth. After Lana left he started playing with the zippers and Velcro on his backpack.

"Here's your cake, Mr. Malfoy," Lana returned and set a large slice of German Chocolate cake on Draco's bedside table. She pushed a wheelchair over to Fred's bed and helped him into it.

"See you later, Flea," Draco snapped as they left the room.

**HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP**

Lana took Fred down the hall to the same room where he had his first test. Healer Gray was already there, and he waved Lana out once they got Fred onto the bed, flat on his back and scared out of his wits.

"Today I'm going to perform a few nerve function tests," Healer Gray explained, handing Fred a vial of clear liquid.

"I had my pain medication this morning," Fred protested, sitting up slightly and holding the bottle in one hand.

"This test requires you to have a second dose, drink it down, now," Healer Gray said pleasantly.

Fred wrinkled his nose, not looking forward to being sick later as a result of taking the potion. He quickly swallowed the entire vial, feeling more nauseous than ever.

"Go ahead and lie back," Healer Gray said firmly, drawing his wand from his robe pocket. Fred stared up at the ceiling, his mind racing in agitation. "Let me know if you feel anything," Healer Gray insisted, touching his wand to Fred's left temple.

"_Crucio."_

Pain erupted in Fred's head; it was as if a million knives were being driven into his skull. He screamed and clutched his head in panic and fear. _Why was Healer Gray doing this, what kind of test called for an Unforgivable Curse? _

Healer Gray removed his wand, his expression impassive. "Alright, then, just a few more," he smiled, pressing his wand to the other side of Fred's head. The pain that followed was excruciating, and his screams soon turned to gasps for air. He grasped blindly at the sheets beneath him and struggled to block out the pain, his vision growing darker as his body threatened to slip into unconsciousness.

Fred felt his body go limp as Healer Gray removed his wand once more. He lay there gasping, pain radiating from every part of his body that he could still feel.

"Almost done, just try to relax," Healer Gray insisted, his voice calm although Fred's mind was in agony. "It will all be over in a moment—_Crucio."_

Fred felt intense pain explode in his body, and then he blacked out.

**HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH**

Fred woke up back in his room. He rolled his eyes painfully over toward Draco, who was drawing a portrait of his cat.

"What a shame, I thought you had died," Draco said jokingly.

Lana held a cup of water to Fred's lips, and he willfully drank; his throat was dry and aching.

"Mr. Malfoy, you're a great artist, you should put more energy into that than you do in being annoying," Lana said, observing Draco's picture.

"Whatever, go away," Draco snapped.

"My point exactly," Lana said sharply, leaving.

"You didn't eat your cake," Fred observed in a weak voice, noticing the plate on Draco's nightstand was untouched.

"That's because I'm saving it so you get to watch me eat it," Draco said, slowly taking a bite of his cake. "This is so very delicious…"

"Stop it," Fred mumbled, closing his eyes. His body hurt whenever he tried to move, and Draco's voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

Draco licked his fork clean, savoring every bite. "I hate Pansy," he said randomly, finishing the cake and tearing apart the letter from Pansy slowly; the shrill sound of shredding paper filled the room.

"Why can't you be quiet," Fred pleaded as Draco tapped the bars on his bed and clicked buttons on a sound machine he had taken out of his backpack.

"You nuts yet?" Draco grinned.

"No," Fred croaked.

"Then I'm not done yet," Draco snapped.

Lana materialized in the doorway. "Mr. Malfoy, the healer will see you now," she announced, motioning for Draco to follow her.

The moment Draco left the room, Fred drifted off to sleep, blocking out everything except the peaceful quiet that he had wanted for days.

The sound of George's voice woke him hours later.

"Fred, come on, we're busting you out of here," George said perkily, shaking him by the shoulder. He opened his eyes and saw his parents standing by his bed with Percy and George, and his father didn't look too happy.

"What do you mean?" Fred asked groggily, struggling to sit up.

"Healer Gray is a quack," George said seriously, waving a sheaf of papers at Fred. "We made Percy do a background check on him at the ministry, and he never registered as a healer for the hospital, he submitted false documents!"

_So that explained it…_

"I still think you're being irrational," Percy said huffily. "St. Mungo's has more than enough healers here that would be qualified to treat Fred; you have to look at other options!"

Arthur's face turned dark red and he shot Percy a stern glare. "Percy, this doesn't concern you!"

Percy looked startled by his father's tone, but he dared not open his mouth again.

"I've written a letter to Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore explaining everything," Molly said, carefully helping Fred out of his bed.

So he wouldn't be walking out of here after all. But Fred didn't dwell on the future too much as they left the fateful ward. He was finally going home.

**R&R **


	10. Worries

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N: This chapter is a little different than usual. Hope you like it. **

Molly Weasley sat at her kitchen table and held a cup of tea in her shaking hands. The house was unusually quiet, and she stared intently at the family clock, listening to the dull shift of hands that punctuated their daily lives. When she finally spoke, her voice remained surprisingly strong, although on the inside, she was screaming.

"What are we going to do, Arthur?"

Her question brought Arthur out of his thoughts, and he wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. "I don't know, Mollywobbles," he whispered into her hair. It was still hard for him to believe the events of the last few days. The reality that his son may never again be able to walk was even more incomprehensible. He struggled to hold himself together for the rest of the family; for his wife, who surely was beating herself up enough; for his son in the bedroom upstairs, bedridden and consumed by denial.

Sometimes Arthur hated being the rational one, the one who had to be strong for everyone. Percy's recent words came back to haunt him and he tried to push them out of his mind: 'I think you're being irrational…' Had they made the wrong decision bringing Fred home? He hoped that wasn't so. One of the worst things they could have done as leave Fred at the mercy of people who didn't know how to handle his condition.

"That isn't exactly reassuring," Molly muttered, draining her cup of tea.

"What would you like me to say?" Arthur asked gently, not wanting to upset her. "The truth is, I have no idea what is wrong with our son, and even though he's only been home for a day I still can't bring myself to go upstairs and face him. "

"And you think I can?" Molly demanded, her eyes flashing dangerously. "I'm the one who has to take care of him! Don't you think it hurts me that I can't take away his pain?"

Arthur buried his face in his hands, suddenly regretting his callous words. "I'm sorry," he sat down in the chair opposite his wife and squeezed her hands between his own. "You're right; this is difficult for all of us, but we have to figure out what we're going to do soon."

"What do you mean?" Molly asked, trying to read his expression. She was more than content to nurse her child back to health; she had been doing it all their lives. How many scraped knees had she mended? How many times had she tended to their bruises, broken bones and sniffles?

"Maybe we should send Fred to school with the others," Arthur began carefully; he felt like this was the hardest thing he had ever had to say. It was one of the hardest things he ever had to do, and he wasn't sure if he could go through with it. Fred was his son; what kind of father sent their crippled child away to be cared for by someone else?

_Crippled_…the word made him feel sick to his stomach. He just couldn't imagine his sixteen-year-old son unable to walk on his own two legs ever again, doomed to be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. His eyes moved to look at the foreign contraption in the corner by the door. That wasn't the kind of life he imagined for any of his children, especially for the twins, who were so active they were a nightmare to almost everyone they knew. He didn't want that to be his son.

Not Fred.

"What? You're not serious," Molly gasped. "With everything else that is going on this year?"

"Molly, as much as I hate to admit it, Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall are much more equipped to handle this situation than we are," Arthur insisted. "You've already written Minerva, she knows what's going on, so rather than wait until when—_if_—Fred's headaches clear up, we need to let him go now."

Molly didn't reply, and instead turned her gaze to the clock once more. She remembered the day Fred and George had learned to walk clearly in her mind as if it had happened yesterday. Younger than George by nearly fifteen minutes, Fred had been the first to venture across the yard on his own. Molly was as anxious as she had been with her other boys, but after falling once Fred had laughed it off and kept going. It didn't take long for George to see how much fun his twin was having for him to join Fred, and soon they were both covered in mud after discovering a pool of frog spawn.

But this time was different, wasn't it? Molly twisted her wedding band nervously on her finger, wishing she wasn't such a worrywart. She had plenty of reason to feel scared; they had just gotten Fred back. And Fred was sick; he needed her to take care of him. Then the image of Fred playing in frog spawn with his twin flashed in her mind, and she knew Arthur was right.

Fred had been fiercely independent of her as a young child; the only one he ever needed was George, his twin. As long as they were together, Molly knew that Fred would be fine.

"I guess he can go," Molly sighed. "But I'm writing every day and no one can stop me."

Arthur smiled, grateful that she understood. He was terrified for Fred as well, but it was out of their hands now; they couldn't do anything for him at home. "I wouldn't dream of it," he insisted, and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek.

The back door swung open and George entered the kitchen, looking glum and lost.

"Why don't you go up and spend some time with your brother, dear?" Molly asked, gazing at him fondly. "I'm sure he misses your company."

"Yeah," George said, trying to look cheerful, but Molly could tell that his smile was forced. Dark circles smudged under his eyes, and he looked like he had not slept in days. Out of everyone, Molly knew that George was taking Fred's illness the hardest. She could only imagine what was going through his mind as he retreated up the stairs to their room.

"Don't worry," Arthur insisted, locking her gaze with his eyes. "He'll be alright."

She struggled to find reassurance in his voice; but the frightening thing was she wasn't sure whether Arthur was talking about Fred or George.

**R&R**


	11. Changes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: Special thanks to my Beta Anie. **

"So this is Hogwarts," Alice commented as she stepped off the carriage and stared up at the looming castle in the distance. It was more incredible than she had ever imagined, and a far cry from the modern Salem Witches Institute, which had sported a sprawling campus with red brick structures, student apartments that resembled condos and an indoor pool. In comparison, Hogwarts was rustic in a medieval sort of way.

She walked down the stone path toward the castle, her long black robes billowing around her ankles in the cool wind. Overhead, dark clouds moved in, threatening to storm. At least the weather was the same.

The voices of students blended around her, and she wondered if this year would be different. Back home in Massachusetts, the kids had been snobbish and rich; Alice had felt out of place among their masses; she relied on her mother's cosmetic abilities to make her look the part, but there had always been a gap between her and the other students. She had been the outcast. But a new school meant new friends, right?

Alice watched a group of kids walking ahead of her, laughing together. She had been disappointed when she had failed to find Fred and George on the train. She spotted Ginny sitting with a group of friends, but had balked when mustering the courage to go sit with her, and had ended up alone in a compartment for the whole trip.

Once she reached the castle, Alice tried to push the negative thoughts out of her head. This was a fresh start, she could do this. Upon seeing a crowd of students, she recognized the lion badge on their robes as the Gryffindor seal, the House she had been placed in on recommendation of Professor Dumbledore himself. She followed them down to the Great Hall, fear giving way to excitement at the opportunities ahead of her.

* * *

"Are you sure you're okay to do this?" George's voice cut into Fred's thoughts. They were waiting outside Dumbledore's office during the welcoming feast, and although he knew that his brother meant well, Fred was finding George's voice to be incessantly annoying. Due to Mrs. Weasley's letter, Professor Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall had wanted to talk to Fred as soon as he arrived at school. But as the entire school was buzzing about some big, upcoming event, so their meeting was delayed.

Fred didn't mind waiting. He was secretly relieved; this way he would miss the feast and not have to face the entire school at once. He shuddered at the thought of what they would say, seeing him in a wheelchair.

"Yeah, I'm fine, will you stop asking?" Fred demanded.

"Sorry," George sighed, trying to ignore his stomach growling. He had promised Fred earlier that he would stick by him during the meeting, and besides, what kind of twin would he be leaving Fred alone while he stuffed his face full? "But I can practically smell the dessert from here; you know I have a weakness for chocolate!"

"You don't have to wait with me," Fred said firmly, although deep down he hoped that George would stay. The last couple of days George had been working hard; he had taken it upon himself to help Fred dress and bathe, since the paralysis made it so difficult for Fred to do those things himself. His heart went out to his brother, but whenever he was alone the fear was unbearable.

George popped the brake on Fred's wheelchair. "Then let's go down to the Great Hall and eat, I'm starving and we've hardly spoken to anyone since we got here."

Fred stared guiltily at the ground. In isolating himself from his friends, he had unintentionally isolated George, who had stayed by his side rather than to catch up with Lee, Alicia, Katie, and Angelina on the train. How could he possibly explain his feelings without losing George, too? He never asked his twin to make the sacrifices he did, yet he depended on him so much now.

"I don't want to go in there and have everyone gawking at me like I'm some kind of freak," Fred insisted almost too quietly for George to hear; but he knew George had heard him because his chair had abruptly stopped moving. George's breathing filled the silence in the hall around them; Fred could sense his brother behind him, considering his words.

George squeezed Fred's shoulder. He then came around to Fred's line of sight, grinning. "I'll sneak you down to the kitchens later, then," he said, genuine understanding in his eyes.

Fred grinned back. "Sounds like a plan, bro."

"I'll borrow the map from Harry so that nobody spots us," George continued, his eyes bright with the anticipation of another late night escapade, just like old times before everything fell apart. He tipped Fred's chair back and balanced himself on the small basket mounted on the back, coasting down the hall and attempting a wheelie with them both on the chair. He lost control and they crashed into a wall.

They were still laughing when a voice shattered the moment. "MR. WEASLEY!"

George turned a shade of red as bright as his hair, picking himself up off the floor and making sure Fred was all right. "Sorry, Professor!"

"I'm sure you are." Professor McGonagall stood with her arms folded across her chest, her eyes sharp and piercing like a hawk's. Dumbledore looked slightly amused, his eyes twinkling, and Madam Pomfrey simply looked appalled.

"Honestly, George, do you really think it's a good idea to fool around like that with your brother in his condition?" she demanded rather sternly. After they had ended up in the Hospital Wing so many times because of their wild antics, Madam Pomfrey was on a first name basis with the twins; she liked it that way, though. Deep down the school nurse had a fondness for the clowns.

"Fred's not complaining, are you bro?" George grinned mischievously.

"It's all in good fun, love, don't sweat it," Fred insisted.

Madam Pomfrey sighed, following Dumbledore into his office, muttering, "In all my years here I've never met a pair so eager to nearly kill themselves…"

Inside Dumbledore's office George helped himself to a lollipop from a bowl on the desk and then sat back to listen to what both boys expected to be a long and boring lecture on their mother's concerns.

"Your mother expressed a lot of anxiety over you coming back to school, Fred," Professor McGonagall began, looking Fred directly in the eyes. She still hadn't gotten over the shock of seeing him so incapacitated. Normally Fred Weasley was a hurricane of energy that bounced off the walls, creating mayhem and chaos for everyone and everything he came in contact with. "She said you've been quite ill these past couple of weeks, but she is adamant about you continuing your education and leading as normal a life as possible until we can figure out what's happened to you," she reached across the table and gave Fred's hand a reassuring squeeze.

He almost jerked his hand away. She sounded so optimistic. _Until we can figure out what happened…_Up until now, he had been too lost in the pain to really stop and realize that he had no idea what was wrong. No idea if he would survive this, whatever it was.

"How can I have a normal life if I can't walk?" Fred demanded, looking around at the three adults. "How am I supposed to get around the school if I'm stuck in this chair—how—how am I supposed to play _Quidditch_?"

The lollipop practically fell out of George's mouth. He had forgotten about Quidditch, which was just about as big a part of Fred's life as it was to he himself.

Dumbledore nodded understandably. "Quidditch sessions have been cancelled this year due to the Triwizard Tournament," he explained.

Fred felt a weight lifted off his shoulders. Good; he didn't have to worry about being replaced. He didn't think he would be able to withstand watching someone else play Beater alongside George. But still, how was he going to navigate the stairs? Back home, he didn't have to worry about such things. His mother had kept him in bed, safe, where he couldn't hurt himself. He was beginning to feel that that had been an unwise decision.

Dumbledore rested a hand on his shoulder, and, as if he had read his mind, he said, "We're going to allow you to use some spells that will make things much easier for you."

"Staircases can easily be turned into ramps with the _Glisseo_ charm," Professor McGonagall explained, demonstrating with her wand. "To open a door you say _Alohomora. _I'm sure you will have no problem using these spells since you've learned them in your classes."

Fred gazed at his own wand doubtfully. He wasn't sure if that would work; already he could feel a headache throbbing behind his eyelids. That was another problem. How was he going to attend classes if these headaches persisted?

"If you don't feel up to it, Mr. Weasley, I'm sure your brother would be more than willing to help you," Professor McGonagall said kindly, her eyes flitting in George's direction.

"Of course I don't mind," George insisted, glancing worriedly at his brother. Fred's silence was starting to scare him. He didn't have to be so afraid, not when George was with him. He'd have to talk to Fred later, when they were alone. Maybe then he would open up.

"Your mother explained about your headaches, and I'll make sure I have a supply of potions on hand to help you deal with the pain," Madam Pomfrey spoke up. "If you're too sick to go to class, don't hesitate to tell me and we can arrange for your homework to be brought to you."

Fred looked up. His eyes were riddled with uncertainty and pain, but a grin managed to spread across his face. "Homework?" he repeated. "Ah, now you're just torturing me."

George breathed a sigh of relief, and McGonagall actually laughed. "I'm glad your sense of humor is still intact, Mr. Weasley."

Fred and George left Dumbledore's office in much better spirits. They headed up to their dormitory, knowing they probably had a lot of explaining to do with when it came time to face their friends.

They didn't have long to wait, for no sooner had George opened the portrait hole and helped Fred inside, they were bombarded by several voices at once.

"Hello, ladies," Fred joked, smiling widely at Angelina, Katie, and Alicia. Lee was standing by the sofa, and George spotted Alice hanging back by the fireplace.

Five jaws dropped.

Then Angelina screamed, "What the hell happened to you?!"

**Please review, your opinions would be awesome!**

Evenstar606


	12. Hang In There

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

The silence was deafening. Fred heard the blood pounding in his own ears, the heavy breathing of his friends, even the crackling from the common room fireplace as everyone looked in his direction—all he wanted was for one of them to say something, anything, he couldn't take this eerie quiet.

"I asked you a question," Angelina spoke up, her gaze level with Fred's. Her voice shook slightly, and he was almost certain those were tears in her brown eyes. Damn, this was not going to be easy.

"The truth is," Fred began hopelessly. "I really don't know what happened—I was playing Quidditch and then everything just went numb and I fell…" That had been a partial lie; he chose to leave out the part about his headaches. There was a growing ball of fear inside him, telling him that they were the real problem; the problem that would eventually lead to the truth.

"Paralyzed?" Alice gasped and the others turned to look at her, as if seeing her for the first time. An uncomfortable tension filled the air as they all stopped to let her words sink in.

"Can—can anything be done about it?" Katie demanded. "I mean, isn't there a potion or spell that can make you walk again?"

"That's just the thing," George began, his hands tightening on the handles of Fred's chair, knuckles turning white. "After two days the healers couldn't find anything wrong," he explained, leaving out the parts with Healer Gray as easily as Fred had left out his headaches.

Angelina's eyes flashed angrily. "How could they not know, they're trained professionals for Godric's sake!"

"Mum and Dad were hoping maybe Madam Pomfrey or Dumbledore could help…" Fred said softly, staring at the floor. He wasn't ready for this—and his friends were only making it worse. How could he make them understand if he didn't fully grasp the reality of what was happening with his body himself?

George noticed Alice frown, confusion written all over her face. It dawned on him that Fred probably didn't even realize who she was.

"So your sister lied to me, then?" Alice turned toward George furiously. "She wrote in her letter that Fred was visiting your Aunt!"

"You got me there," George's face went red. "We meant to tell you, honest, but everything was kind of crazy for a while," he insisted. _Not to mention we didn't even know what was going on ourselves_…he thought bitterly, thinking of those two days he wasn't even allowed to visit his brother.

"That's rough, mate, I'm really sorry," Lee said, putting a hand on Fred's shoulder. It was weird, seeing your best friend in a wheelchair. The Fred he had always known could seriously whip his tail at Quidditch but now…who knew what the future held.

"Yeah, I'm still getting used to it," Fred confessed with a nervous laugh. He glanced uncertainly at Alice. "Um, don't mind my asking, but have we met before?"

"Oh!" Alice blushed violently. "It's me—Alice Perry. We met at the World Cup…" she trailed off, suddenly afraid of what Fred might think of her. George had been hugely receptive about her transformation, but for some reason she was more eager for Fred's approval. Angelina, Katie, and Alicia were giving her appraising looks; particularly Angelina.

Fred smiled, his eyes glinting. "Well, it's nice to see the real you, Alice, welcome to Gryffindor."

"Thank you," Alice grinned. Inwardly, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Wait—you know each other?" Angelina wondered out loud.

"George and I ran into Alice at the World Cup. She's right sharp, this girl," Fred insisted, winking at Alice, making her feel all warm inside. "She even helped us out during a spat with Malfoy."

Lee extended his hand toward Alice. "Any enemy of Draco Malfoy is a friend of mine," he grinned. "Nice to meet you, Alice Perry."

"Alice is from America. She was born here, but her parents left because of the war. They decided it was time she got to attend Hogwarts," George added. "She went to the Salem Institute and her mum is apparently awesome at glamour spells."

That got the girls' attention.

"Really?" Alicia squealed. "You absolutely have to help me with my hair, I just can't tame the beast," she insisted, running a hand through her chestnut curls. Katie and even Angelina crowded around Alice, eager for some tips.

"You'll have to show us sometime," Angelina insisted, swallowing her pride. She had seen the way Fred looked at Alice and deep down, she figured that whatever made Fred happy right now was worth her waiting just a little longer.

* * *

The next morning came all too soon for Fred. He opened his eyes to find that the rest of his dorm mates were still asleep. He listened to the rhythmic sound of George's snores in the bed next to his, and took comfort that his twin was with him. With an effort, he sat up, using the special pulley that Dumbledore graciously had installed over his bed. Once again, he was grateful for the upper body strength his years as a beater had brought him.

He glanced around the dark bedroom. The walk-in closet seemed to swallow the room one bite at a time; the mirror aglow from the bright moonlight, illuminated his doughy complexion, and he was struck at just how awful he looked.

A sliver of pale moonlight peeked shyly around the window edge. Patterns danced in its wake, moved about the room on curving legs, rousing sleepy chairs wearing nightcaps of forgotten tank tops, sneakers, and dirty socks.

It was as if overnight bags had stolen away during the night. Even his bed cringed into the shadows, blankets tossed back and sheets rumpled to shame, oblivious, left alone with no purpose but to take up space in a large bedroom.

"Fred?" George's voice murmured against his pillow and Fred turned his head to see his twin's eyes staring at him curiously. "You're up early—," he fumbled for his watch. "It's only six."

"I couldn't sleep," Fred sighed, closing his eyes and willing another headache not to start. He felt his bedsprings shift, and looked up when George climbed into the bed beside him and squeezed his hand, which, he realized, was tingling strangely.

"Neither could I. How about a game of Exploding Snap?" George asked, lighting his wand and holding up a deck of cards.

The corners of Fred's mouth twitched into a smile.

They were halfway through their fifth game before anyone noticed. Lee threw a pillow at George, knocking him off the bed and calling him a sod for waking everyone up before the alarm.

Fred struggled to keep his anxieties under control throughout the day. At breakfast, he could feel the curious eyes of some students and even a few teachers' eyes following him—he heard their whispered conversations, and above the noise of plates and silverware clinking together he heard his little sister Ginny call him over; she had saved a place for him at the end of the table, bless her.

By the time their afternoon class rolled around, Fred's arms were getting tired of steering the chair, and he was having increasing difficulty holding his wand in order to navigate the staircases—a problem that he tried to hide from George, although he knew his twin would find out sooner or later.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts—another year, another teacher to bite the dust," Lee Jordan announced cheerfully, following the twins into the classroom. Alice, Angelina, and Alicia were having an animated conversation about hair products. The three girls together confused Lee with their similar sounding names, so he had taken to calling Alice 'Ali'. She didn't mind, and he was grateful. Oh so many A's…

"Maybe this year will be different," Angelina insisted while Alicia filled Ali in on the DADA curse.

They all found seats close to one another, and the room fell silent when Mad Eye Moody entered. He got right down to business.

"It's come to my attention that the Dark Arts class has gone through its share of teachers over the years, and because of this, you are all behind in your studies," Moody explained.

Fred knew this was true—between Professor Quirrell, Professor Lockhart, and Snape's werewolf lessons, they hadn't gotten the proper education by Ministry standards.

The Ministry would like to keep everyone in the dark about the evil we may face in the future, but as long as I'm your teacher you'll be ready to fight whatever 'unspeakable horrors' that should stand in your way," Alastor Moody insisted, his magical eye spinning to focus on each student as he talked. "I know you've probably learned them already, but this year we will review the Unforgivable Curses, which, if used, are enough to land anyone a life term in Azkaban."

George leaned towards Fred. "Moody's awesome, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Fred said absently, staring at his unopened textbook. Something Moody had said about 'unspeakable horrors' made him feel a little uneasy. He noticed Ali in the front row, listening intently to Mood's speech.

"Now, who here can give me the name of one Unforgivable Curse?" Moody questioned, and to Fred's surprise, Ali's hand raised tentatively into the air.

"Yes, Miss…Perry?" Moody asked, checking his ledger.

"The Imperius Curse," Ali spoke up. Moody nodded his head approvingly, taking a live tarantula out of a nearby jar, setting it on his desk, and aiming at the creature with his wand.

Fred focused on the spider, waiting on baited breath with the rest of the class.

"Very good," Moody insisted. "The Imperious Curse can make its victim fall prey to whatever the caster wishes it to do," he explained, muttering '_Imperio_' and without warning the tarantula began to dance about. Several girls shrieked as the spider scuttled onto their desks. "Next curse?" Moody prompted, making the spider gnaw dangerously at its own legs, blood trickling onto the scrubbed wood beneath it.

Adrian Pucey, a Slytherin student who played for his house Quidditch team, forwent raising his hand and blurted out, "The Cruciatus Curse."

"The Torture Curse—one that makes its victim feel excruciating pain, until they beg for mercy," Moody nodded grimly and pointed his wand once again at the spider, uttering, "_Crucio_."

The spider twitched madly, its bloodied limbs twisting in agony. Fred gasped, his face growing deadly white when the memory hit him of Healer Gray using that same curse on him during one of his nightmarish tests. An _Unforgivable Curse_! He felt his palms beginning to sweat, cold fear rising in his chest as he stared transfixed at the spider, which was growing weaker. Finally, it collapsed from exhaustion, lying still in Moody's hand.

"Can anyone give me the final curse?" Moody asked quietly, although no one dared to speak. Fred's mind was reeling from what he had just learned.

At last, Ali raised her hand again, and this time, even Mad Eye Moody's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Yes, Miss Perry?"

"Avada Kedavra," Ali whispered her voice so low that her classmates strained to understand.

"The Killing Curse," Moody announced. He pointed his wand at the spider, and spoke in a terrible voice. "Avada Kedavra!" There was a flash of green light, and then the spider moved no more.

It was dead.

An eerie silence fell over the classroom as the shock settled in.

"Now that you've all seen what can happen out there," Moody began seriously, his magical eye locking Fred's gaze for a second before turning away. "I'd like everyone to turn to page 430 and read the passage on Unforgivable Curses—take notes."

Everyone scrambled to open their books, and over the rustle of paper Moody's wooden leg made a persistent _thunk_ as he approached the twins' desk. "So, how did this happen?" he asked gruffly tapping the wheel of Fred's chair with his cane.

"We went skiing in Aspen this summer and I collided with a tree," the excuse tumbled out of Fred's mouth as he kept a straight face. He had no idea what 'skiing' was or even where the heck Aspen was located, but he was getting tired of telling everyone 'I don't know'.

"Is that some sort of Muggle sport?" Moody wondered out loud, his magical eye swiveling unto Fred, and suddenly making him feel very small.

"No idea, sir," Fred shrugged.

Moody laughed, causing the scars on his marred face to look especially hideous. Several students looked up at him in alarm. "You're all right, kid, hang in there," he laughed, clapping Fred firmly on the shoulder before moving back to the front of the room. He hadn't pressed the issue.

_Hang in there_.

"I'll try," Fred muttered to himself. He pushed all thoughts of curses and Healer Gray out of his mind. Once the bell rang signaling the end of class he was more than relieved to get out of there.

* * *

Draco, on his way down to Potions class in the dungeons, spotted Ali leaving the DADA classroom and decided to follow her. There was something strange about that girl that he couldn't quite put his finger to. His father had said her parents were once Death Eaters, but had betrayed the Dark Lord's trust. Ali was going around acting all naive and innocent, but Draco knew better; he figured that she was just as slimy and cunning as he was, and wanted to prove it, once and for all, to Weasley and his little friends.

"Perry!" Draco shouted, causing Ali to whirl around and look at him.

The boy from the World Cup, she realized. What was his name again? Oh—Draco Malfoy. "Did you want something?" Ali demanded, telling herself that he shouldn't be trusted.

"Having fun playing Little Miss Clueless?" Draco asked haughtily, his trademark smirk spreading the corners of his mouth.

"What are you talking about? You don't even know me," Ali growled.

"I know enough," Draco said airily. "It's been a while since your family has been in the Dark Lord's good graces, but I know what you're all about; your parents moved back here because they heard the Dark Lord will rise again, and they're hoping to get to him before Knox does."

Ali frowned, and as she began to understand what he had said, anger surged up inside her, and she fought the urge to strangle him. "You're wrong," she hissed. "My parents left England to get away from the war, they were tired of fighting for evil, and they did what was best for our family!"

"Right, your family," Draco laughed coldly. "If they cared so much about you, they wouldn't have promised you to the Dark Lord."

"What?" Ali gasped. "Who told you that?"

"You still don't get it, do you?" Draco asked, and his pale blue eyes appeared to see right through Ali, and she suddenly felt exposed.

"No, I don't, but if you're so smart, why don't you tell me?" Ali hissed, her disgust for Malfoy steadily mounting. How dare he stand there and act like he knew what her parents had done—she didn't fully understand the length of her parents' involvement with the Dark Lord, but throughout her childhood they had tried to instill in her a greater knowledge of the dark world they inhabited. She had believed they did it for her protection, but the conviction in Draco's voice told her otherwise.

"I'll bet you have the Mark," Draco insisted.

Ali gaped at him She had no Mark. There was no way she had the Dark Mark, he was talking crazy. "I do not," she said firmly, venom dripping off her words.

"We'll see," Draco shrugged, staring her down. His cocky demeanor got the best of her, and she glared at him fiercely, eyes flashing, then turned and stormed down the hall, uncomfortably aware of Draco's eyes following her.

Once she had disappeared into the throng of students changing classes, Draco got an idea. He would find the Mark, and expose Alice Perry for who she really was. But how?

"I'll sneak into her dorm room," he muttered. "I just need a camera…"

"Why don't you beat up Colin Creevey and take his?" a familiar voice suggested from behind him. He turned to see Pansy Parkinson leaning against the wall.

"Have you been eavesdropping?" Draco hissed.

"Maybe," Pansy shrugged, moving away from the wall. Her short black hair fell to just below her ears, and she twirled a strand around her finger absently, staring down the hall, but Ali was nowhere to be seen. "I want to help you get rid of her."

"What's in it for you?" Draco groaned. It was old news that Pansy had a crush on him, and he didn't want to take her on some ridiculous date just so she would help him.

""Nothing, can't I help a fellow Slytherin without wanting something in return?" Pansy asked, pouting.

Draco frowned at her.

"Fine, I heard there's going to be a ball in December, and I want you to be my date," Pansy stated, looking at Draco hopefully.

Darn her!

"It's a deal, now how am I going to get into the girls' dormitory, let alone Gryffindor Tower without getting caught?" Draco demanded. He had to find that Mark; if he did, everyone would know that Alice Perry was a fraud, and once she was gone he could focus on helping his father deal with Knox, who had caused enough trouble as it is.

"I'll scare the password out of Neville Longbottom, everyone knows he carries around a list," Pansy explained carelessly. "Then I'll distract the Fat Lady and you can make your move—once your in their Common Room, take Potter's Invisibility Cloak and go up to the girls' dorm."

Draco gaped at her, dumbfounded. "How do you know Potter's Invisibility Cloak will be left in the Common Room?"

"Trust me, I got that covered," Pansy grinned.

"Whatever—you expect me to crawl into the girls' dorm, it turns into a slide whenever guys try to enter, and you know that!" Draco snapped.

Pansy crossed her arms. "You're smart, figure it out," she insisted, glancing at her watch. "Meet me in the Slytherin Common Room at ten O'clock; everyone should be in bed by then."

Draco grit his teeth. This had better work. "I'll see you there," he muttered, and hurried to class.

**I'll post Draco's plan in a few days. Stay Tuned for Part Two!**

Evenstar606


	13. Draco's Sticky Situation

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: Sorry for the delay to anyone who is still reading this. I have had a very BUSY last couple of months. I thought about discontinuing this story because of Writer's Block—but I want to finish it. It will be my first successful Multi-Chapter fic!**

The following night, while the Prefects were patrolling the staircases and hallways, Draco met Pansy in the Slytherin Common Room.

"Did you get the cloak?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, it's right where I said it would be," Pansy said airily. "All I had to do was forge a note to Potter from that Mudblood Hermione Granger saying she needed it to sneak into the Library—he trusts her, so he left it by the fireplace."

"That sounds too easy," Draco frowned.

Pansy's eyes flashed. "Here we go again. Do you want my help or not, Draco Malfoy?"

"Keep your voice down," Draco hissed. "Of course I do, now let's get this over with."

"Much obliged," Pansy insisted, leading the way out of their Common Room.

Like bandits fleeing a crime scene. Draco and Pansy snuck past the two Gryffindor Prefects who were talking quietly at the foot of the Grand Staircase. They moved swiftly up the stairs, and, careful not to disturb the slumbering Fat Lady, crouched behind a suit of armor.

"Now what?" Draco whispered.

Pansy's eyes gleamed, and her lips curled into an evil smile. "Never say I never did anything for you, Malfoy," she said before stepping out into the open.

"Pansy! What are you _doing_?" Draco growled in a low voice.

Before he could stop her, Pansy raised her wand. "_Furnunculus_!" she exclaimed. A bolt of light sprang from the tip of her wand, and hit one of the unsuspecting Prefects squarely between the eyes. The girl wailed as massive boils bubbled up all over her face, swelling her eyes shut.

The boy, Pansy could care less what his name was--took a rather indirect approach to the attack.

"50 points from Slytherin!" he bellowed. "What are you doing up so late?!"

_Wow, someone needs to get their priorities straight_, Pansy thought, catching Draco's eye.

"Hey! I asked you a question!" the boy shouted.

"Oh for the love of Merlin," Pansy cackled. The portrait hole swung open, and Professor McGonagall barged out in her dressing gown.

"What on earth is going on out here?!" she demanded, glancing back and forth between the boy and Pansy.

"She did it—she hexed her!" the boy yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Pansy.

Professor McGonagall's eyes widened when she saw the girl, now crying, pawing blindly at her face. "Oh my—how—get her to the hospital wing this instant!" she sputtered. "I will deal with Miss. Parkinson," she continued, fixing Pansy with an icy glare.

The boy led his fellow Prefect away, and the moment Professor McGonagall started lecturing Pansy, Draco bolted through the portrait hole. He snatched up Potter's Invisibility Cloak, pulled it on, and went down the hall to confront the Girls' staircase. Naturally, the moment he set foot upon the first step, it fell into a slide.

"Bloody Pansy," Draco swore, hastily applying a Sticky Charm to his hands, and climbing up the slide like a spider. Once in the hallway, he quickly located the Sixth Years' dorm. Testing the knob, he found the door unlocked, and pushed it open, slipping into the room.

The haziness of the cloak prevented him from seeing clearly, but he was pretty sure that was Alice coming toward him.

"Hey Alli, shut the door, will you?" Angelina Johnson, the Gryffindor Chaser, called out.

"Sure," Alli closed the door, unknowingly blocking Draco's exit. Then she pulled off her shirt. The other girls were also changing into their pajamas, clad only in bras and panties—or nothing at all.

Draco immediately closed his eyes. He was alone in a room with half-naked girls! This day couldn't get any worse. Remembering his mission, he forced his eyes to focus on a spot on Alice's bare back, between her shoulder blades. There it was—he knew it—small, discreet, but unmistakably a Dark Mark.

So innocent little Alli was a Death Eater after all.

He leaned in closer for a better look—and tripped over someone's bra. _Damn things_. Suddenly Draco was falling forward, and the Invisibility Cloak was gone, flying across the room.

He was exposed.

"Huh—MALFOY?!" Angelina Johnson shrieked, grabbing a robe to cover herself.

The room erupted in screams as the girls rushed to hide their nakedness, and some began pelting heavy objects at him. _Bloody hell_!

Draco turned bright red, partly from embarrassment, partly from anger at himself for trusting Pansy. He stumbled out of the room, dodging coat hangers, books, and a particularly large flower pot—and came face to face with Professor McGonagall.

* * *

The next morning during breakfast, the Gryffindor table was buzzing about Draco the Peeping Tom and Pansy the Dead Shot Hexer. On their way out of the Great Hall, Fred and George vaguely heard Alli, Angelina, and Alicia filling Katie in on what happened the night before.

"It was just so weird--what reason would Draco Malfoy have to sneak into our dorm?" Angelina wondered aloud.

"I don't know, but it sounds pretty fishy to me," Katie frowned.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry walked behind their group, talking quietly amongst themselves. "How did Draco get your Invisibility Cloak, Harry?" Hermione whispered.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "You wrote me the note, remember? You needed it to work in the library."

It was Hermione's turn to frown. "I wasn't in the library last night," she protested. "I never left you any note…you don't think—,"

"That dirty little sneak," Ron growled. "He must have planned the whole thing—he's up to something."

"Obviously," George said, turning around. "Sounds like he caused quite a stir; I wonder why."

"Well, we're going to find out," Harry insisted. They stopped next to the entry to Snape's dungeon classroom.

"Potions," Fred said bitterly, Draco momentarily forgotten. "This outta be abysmal." A grimace crossed his already pale face and Harry nodded in understanding.

"Good luck," he insisted, and the Trio waved goodbye, hurrying to their own classes.

**R&R? I know it's not much...I'm just getting back into this, sorry. Constructive Criticism is WELCOME!**


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